Flicker
by musefan929
Summary: A collection of one-shots and drabbles for your enjoyment. A variety of characters in mostly funny situations. For various competitions.
1. Flurries

Flurries of blinding white snow fell to the ground.

"Cold as my mother's tit out here, I'd say."

"I'd say you're about a hair away from getting your bum cursed off."

"You take on me? There's a laugh."

"Wait, what was that?"

"What was what?"

"Over there!"

The Snatcher pointed to a clump of black trees ahead of them. A shadow flitted, almost invisible, like a scratch on an old film.

"It's nothing. Just a bird, I'd wager."

""Wager with what? You don't have two knuts to rub together after I swept you out from our last dealings."

"That mudblood fell into a thornbush just as I was about to put a binding curse on 'im! He was _my _bag, not yours!" The second Snatcher snarled, standing up, his nostrils flaring.

"Oi!" A third Snatcher who had been disguised among the branches of leaves, stuck his head out of the foliage, "I've had just about enough of you two lovebirds!"

"Cleon, you dolt, you stand up and they're going to see you," The second Snatcher said, pulling the first roughly by the shoulder.

"We've been here for _three _days now and-"

The second Snatcher cupped Cleon's mouth. With a shaking hand, the second pointed to a stump in the middle of the white field they were camped in.

It was a large black raven. The snow picked up, but through the sheets of frost, it turned its head slowly. It stared at them.

"_Caw! Caw!"_

The mouth of hell opened in a clap of noise. The snatchers in the bush were thrown, head over heels, tumbling into the frozen air. Explosions, one after another, slammed against the landscape.

Cleon's back rammed a tree branch. Eyes rolling in his head, he fell down the tree, jacket snagging and ripping. He hit the ground with a thud heavier then he expected for the deep snow.

Panting, aching, he opened his eyes to a display of whizzing spells being cast above him. There was a bellowing scream. The Cruciatus Curse, there was no doubt in his mind.

Just as there was no doubt that the screams came from the Snatcher that had crouched beside him. His brother, Timon.

Wheezing with effort, Cleon clamped a hand to his side. The touch made his side sing with pain. He looked at his palm and saw that it was now slick with blood.

"Found another!"

It was a woman's voice. Her shape was blurry, he was about to lose consciousness.

"And that would be the brother, Cleon Canthers," a deep, bass-voice replied.

"Please," Cleon breathed, struggling to hold up his hands.

The man's voice continued, "There is no mercy for a Canthers. For your crimes and for the fall of the Ministry, you will know justice by the hands of the people you have made suffer."

The woman-shaped blur moved back into his vision. For a moment, a flicker of recognition lit up his mind.

"My-"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The driving snow laid a white shroud upon his surprised face.


	2. White Flag

Walburga leaned closer to her vanity mirror, putting on her earrings.

"I've had just about enough out of you tonight. Your brother is already dressed and look at you!"

Sirius crossed his arms, leaning in the doorway. Walburga turned from the mirror and pouted her bright red lips.

"What did I say? Go get ready!"

"I can't," Sirius said.

"And why not?"

"'Cause Kreacher hid my stockings."

Walburga raised her arms in frustration, her silver bangles clanging. She pointed a painted nail at him.

"Don't you go blaming it on him again. Every time you find yourself in a spot of trouble it's the same thing."

"But it's true!" Sirius said, stamping his feet.

"Oh please, if it were up to you, Kreacher would be sitting on a positive nest of everything you own," Walburga said, pushing him out of her bedroom.

Sirius made squawks of protest. The door slammed shut, echoing in the palatial mansion. Down the long hallway, a door cracked open, enough for a tiny head to peek out.

"You could borrow mine, you know," Regulus said softly, holding up a pair like a white flag.

Sirius's face twitched into a smile.

"Yeah, alright."

Sirius entered his little brother's bedroom. He had been here one other time, when Regulus had fallen ill with Dragon Pox. That had been scary, everyone acted sad and worried. His father even cried in his study when he believed his two boys to be asleep. But Sirius heard and for the first time, realized that he could lose his brother. He would be all alone in the mansion.

"Would you like to see my hippogriff?" Regulus asked.

The little boy opened his wooden chest and brought out a figurine replica of the creature.

"Does he have a name?" Sirius asked, kneeling down slightly.

Regulus looked down, "It's a girl, actually."

"Well, does _she_?"

The boy nodded hastily, "Her name is Mabel. She used to belong to the Queen, but then one day she escaped and can't find her way back. So she stays with me and I take care of her."

Regulus patted the hippogriff's back. Sirius looked at his little brother with the slicked hair and the tight bowtie. This was all Sirius had ever thought of him. A clean mummy's boy. Maybe it was true, but there was more to him.

"Regulus! Have you seen your brother!" His father said as he suddenly burst into the room, tucking in his dress shirt.

Regulus gasped and put the hippogriff behind his back. Sirius stepped forward.

"'M right here."

"What? No shoes? What kind of an example are you for Reg?"

"Example?"

"Nevermind," Orion said, grabbing Sirius around the wrist, "let's find your things before Mum starts up her yelling again."

"But-"

"But nothing! This is a big party for your Mum and me. We can't have you, well, you understand. You need to look nice!"

Orion dragged his son out of the room. Regulus looked at the ground. His new pair of socks now had a dark shoe print on them.


	3. Rolling

"What d'you mean you don't trust us?" Fred asked.

"It's nothing short of insulting, really," George said.

The twins stood on a tall snow-covered hill overlooking the distant village of Ottery St. Catchpole. In Fred's hands was a worn sled.

"If you think I'm about to get on that, you're mental," Ron said, pointing a gloved finger at the wooden contraption.

"It's a simple matter, really."

"We've already tried it out loads of times."

Hermione sighed loudly, crossing her arms. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it. Turning to Harry, she looked back and forth from him to Ron. Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Right, so who wants to go first?" Fred asked, dropping the sled down and patting the seat invitingly.

"I think you're daft, but I'll do it," Ginny said, stepping forward.

Hermione pinched Harry in the back.

"Ow! Fine, I'll go, too!"

Harry stepped forward. Fred sat down in the back of the sled. Harry took the spot in the middle. Ginny hopped to the front, wriggling in between Harry's legs. Harry gulped. With a fixed determination, he mentally began to list off every Chaser in the International Association of Quidditch.

Fred patted Harry on the back, "Well what a merry maiden voyage this is!"

"What? Maiden?" Hermione spat, stepping forward, "But you said-"

"George!"

"I've got ya, mate!" George replied, pushing the sled forward with a mighty shove.

The sled tilted over the crest of the hill then tipped downwards. The hill seemed much steeper than before, Harry thought. They shot down the hill, the wooden sled rattling them blind. They sped faster and faster.

"Alright, hold on, now!" Fred cried, wrapping his long arms around Harry and Ginny.

Just as they were about the hit the bottom, all three of them were pulled into the nauseating grip of apparition. They appeared back at the top of the hill, but instead of the sled rocketing faster down the slope as the twins had anticipated, it spun madly like a top. It twirled sharply until it hit a stump buried in the snow. The sled slammed it, sending its occupants rolling.

Harry bumped and rolled. He kept rolling. Panicking, Harry realized he was tumbling down the mountain once more, but now as a one-man avalanche. There was a blur of snow, sky, and howling Weasleys. Harry was careening down the slope straight into Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Oi, Harry! Watch out for the post there!" George yelled, cupping his hands.

"Bank left!" Hermione shouted.

"No, just keep going! We ran out of milk!"

"Fred!"

"What? Mum wanted us to pick some up in town."

Harry's hands desperately tried gripping for traction, anything to slow him down. It was a wild tumult of ice, he felt like a runaway locomotive, unable to stop himself. Finally, his back connected with a bicycle, and it fell on top of him, a handlebar plunging into his gut. Harry coughed and shoved the bicycle off of him. He panted heavily, wiping a spot of blood from his nose. He laid on the ground, the world still spinning around him.

"Way to go, Harry!" George shouted, clapping.

Ron whistled and cheered. Hearing the praise up on the hill, Harry gave a weak thumbs up then fainted.

The group at the top eventually stopped clapping. They lapsed into silence.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Ginny asked.

"He's only playing. He's fine, AREN'T YOU HARRY?" Fred shouted down the hill.

Harry did not stir. Everyone turned to Ron, who rolled his eyes and groaned.

"You know what? You lot can bugger off," Ron grumbled, offering them all a rude hand gesture before taking the long walk down the hill.


	4. 77

Arthur Weasley sat down upon the sofa, handing his wife a glass of eggnog. He was about to take a sip of his own when he looked at his wife.

"Oh, don't worry love, hasn't got any alcohol in it."

"Yes," Molly said, swirling the frothy drink in her hands, "because that would be _terribly_ upsetting."

There was creaking sound on the staircase. They turned and saw that it was Bill, who was wearing pajamas that had streaking golden snitches and green clovers.

"Mum, Charlie's been making strange noises in his room and I can't get to sleep," Bill said, rubbing his eyes.

"Right, well I'll see to that," Arthur whispered, standing up but bringing his drink.

"Has Father Christmas brought the presents yet?" Bill asked dreamily, taking his father by the hand.

"He, uh," Arthur turned around to his wife, who held back a grin, "he's got loads to do tonight. When he comes around, I'll tell him you said hello. Now, come on, then."

Arthur and Bill went up the staircase, leaving Molly by the little fire they had built for just the two of them. It always took ages to put the boys to bed and the night before Christmas had been no exception. Thankfully Percy was such a quiet dove, thought Molly. Just a tuck in his crib and he always went straight to sleep.

Her peaceful thought was interrupted by a jab from her womb. Then another. Molly rubbed her swollen belly.

"Alright, in there, that's about enough," she whispered.

"Did you say something, dear?" Arthur said as he descended the staircase.

"Honestly, Arthur, I think there's a circus performance going on in there," Molly said, leaning back on the sofa.

Arthur gave her a swift peck on the cheek.

"Oh tell me this act is a ballerina? Hmm?" Arthur sat on the sofa and laid his ear against her roundness, "Maybe not another one who fancies pretending to be a dragon and starting small fires in his bedroom."

Molly shook her head, "Charlie. Of course the first drop of magic and it's fire. Arthur, I thought you talked to him after the incident at the robe shop."

"You know I did," Arthur said with a weary sigh, "Never even liked that robe shop, really. Always a bit sniffy in there."

Molly placed a hand on her husband's shoulder, "Have you got me a present?"

"Why yes, I have!" Arthur said, brightening up, "I even wrapped it up this year."

"How perfect! And here's yours," Molly said, presenting him with a small box.

"No wait!" Arthur said, holding up his box, "I want you to open this one up first. You know I've always been horrid about getting you a gift on time, but I know you're really going to like this one."

Molly smiled widely and took the gift, "Why isn't this exciting?"

Arthur rubbed his palms together, "Took a good bit of time to acquire. Had to call in a few favors from work."

Molly unwrapped the silver paper and removed the lid of the box.

"Oh my," she whispered, taking out a large plastic leg.

"Isn't it magnificent? Muggles wear these if they lose a leg. Go ahead, give the toes a wiggle."

Molly articulated the largest toe. It bent and curled with ease.

"Remarkable piece of mechanics, isn't it? You think we could get Mad Eye to-"

"There is no 'getting to' with that stubborn goat of a man. You weren't going to hand over this plastic limb now, were you?"

"Heavens, no. This one's for the wrong leg. Thought we could display it in the garden. But now that I think of it, Marty from work was making noise about this one possibly being part of a pair."

Molly ran her hands through his red hair, "Alright, sweetheart. That was very thoughtful of you and this will look lovely. In the backyard. Beside some bushes. Yes. Well, here's yours."

She handed him the small box.

"It's not much, but I think it will do for this year," She whispered.

Arthur lifted the lid and looked at his present. His eyebrows wrinkled in momentary confusion and then slackened in sober realization.

"Oh no."

"You don't like it?"

"No, no, darling it's perfect," Arthur answered, turning to her and smiling warmly.

He lifted the present out of the box. Inside were two golden ornaments shaped like stockings.

"Seems like another two for the mantle. You think they're girls? It would be _really _nice to, you know, round out the-"

There was a large crash from several flights upstairs. The din triggered Percy's sharp wailing. Molly turned to Arthur. He tilted his head back and drank the remainder of his eggnog.

"Here we go, then."


	5. A Pearl

The paper was almost worn to shreds, wrinkled and smudged with dirt. Neville ducked into a shop in Hogsmeade that had fine women's wear such as gloves, hats, and necklaces. It was almost dizzying-his experience with this sort of thing had been limited to Gran, who was, in all honestly, not an icon of taste. Neville walked towards the glass display table.

"Can I help you, young man?" a woman in a deep red velvet robe asked.

"I- er- I'm,"

"A holiday gift for your girlfriend, hmm?" she asked, her small black hat with raven feathers bobbing up and down as she spoke.

Neville flushed crimson, the tips of his ears burning hot. He twisted the paper scrap in his pocket, rubbing it like a worry stone.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here."

The woman put a red nail to her cheek and smiled fondly. With a flick of her wand, necklaces soared out of the glass cabinets and hovered in front of his eyes. A heavy opal necklace smacked him in the cheek. He brushed it off in irritation.

"We have all sorts of fashions for all sorts of witches here," the woman said, then adding, "All sorts of prices, too."

"What about that one?" Neville asked.

He pointed to a delicate silver necklace with a single pearl. The soft pearl reminded him of the color of her neck when she swept her hair up into a ponytail.

"The simple one? Well, yes, I suppose," the woman casually remarked, rolling her eyes.

Neville bit his tongue, wondering what the woman was implying.

"Here, what do you think of this one? Got a bit of shine to it, making any woman feel like a jewel."

A necklace spun out of the group like a bird out of the flock. It was a choker dripping in diamonds. Neville shivered. He knew how much she hated wearing things tightly across her neck. It made her feel caged in.

"Well what about this one?" Neville asked, turning around to another.

This was a gold necklace with an array of different trinkets such as a stone of turquoise, a gem of amethyst and a small owl. It clinked and clattered in just the same ways as her earrings and outfits decked out in bells.

The woman scrunched up her face, "Hmm. A bit young now, I would think."

"I'm sorry," Neville said, running a hand down his face, "I'm not sure this is the place for me."

The necklaces soared back to their proper places on the trays and Neville took it as a cue to leave the shop. The front door clanging, he faced the rough winds of winter, snow already piling up at his feet.

"Neville!" Luna called out, waving a hand from across the street.

She stood in front of Dogweed and Deathcap, an herbology store that Neville had spent many afternoons inside, pestering the workers with questions and watering the plants when they allowed him. Luna wore a fuzzy blue robe with antlers sticking out of the hood. Dangling from one of the antlers was a small purple flower.

"I wanted to show you what that nice man in the shop gave me," Luna said cheerily, pointing to the flower, "He said this is called a viola. It's one of the few flowers that bloom in winter here."

Neville looked down at his friend in her beautifully ridiculous robe. Her cheeks were rosy with frost and her blue eyes had that curious mixture of intelligent awareness and childlike awe. How very lucky it must be to see the world through those eyes, he thought.

"Did you find a gift for Ginny?" Luna asked.

Neville brought out his secret santa slip of paper and looked at it. The words "Ginny Weasley" had been written on it, but the constant worrying had faded it to the point of non-existence.

"You know, I think I'll just have to keep looking," Neville said while avoiding her eyes.

In truth, he had already found Ginny's present ages ago. Ron, for a few knuts, had given him a collector's trading card of Qwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. It was another secret that had preoccupied Neville in the weeks leading up to the winter holidays.

Placing a gloved hand on Neville's arm, Luna said, "I'm sure she will appreciate whatever you find for her. Good friends always do."

The two paused in front of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Luna tugged on his arm.

"Neville, look!"

The display window was lit up by a dazzling array of quills. Some sailed gracefully into the air, writing lines of poetry on hovering parchment for demonstration. A few did somersaults and balanced on the tip of their feathers. One in the corner nearest them had a feather that shimmered different colors, blending and bleeding from one hue into the next.

"That one, right there," Luna said, pointing to the quill, "is quite lovely. I like it."

"Hey, yeah?" Neville said, his face brightening.

He looked down at her and she gave him a brief but knowing glance before her eyes flicked to a shop across the street.

"What about that sports store over there?" Luna asked, "I do believe Ginny mentioned she needed shin-guards for Quidditch. I've told her before that the field is dangerously infested with Umgubular Slashkilters, but she won't hear a word of it."

"You don't say?" Neville asked, looking down at Luna's arm wrapped around his own.


	6. Sunlight

"'Sometimes to make someone strong you have to become vulnerable'. At least, that's what Lupin said to me once," Ron whispered.

Hermione clutched his hand and nodded, pushing back a tear from the corner of her eye. The two walked down a dirt lane, the summer sun orange through the leaves.

"Everything's going to be different now and it scares me sometimes," she said softly.

"Well, you know I'm here," Ron replied, putting his hand around her shoulder.

Hermione twitched, her instinct to avoid public affection still fresh. This, too, would require adjustment.

"It was kind of you to take me here. To see them, I mean," Hermione said.

Along the lane the soft grass grew. Rows of tombstones stood silent. A bird settled on a branch above their head and chirped before flying off again.

Ron looked down at her, "Sometimes, I like to think that maybe they saw each other in the castle. Before, you know..."

Hermione's mind flew back to that terrible night not too long ago. Who was to say what had happened. She and Ron had gone down to the chamber together and then there was that terribly close ordeal in the Room of Requirement. All she could steadily recall was the deep vibrations through the stone of Hogwarts as spells, hexes and curses were thrown without discretion. At night, flashes of the dead played out behind her closed eyes.

"Hey, there," Ron whispered, shaking her shoulder.

She blinked, "I'm sorry. That's been happening more often than I'd like."

"Listen, you don't have to go back to Hogwarts so soon, you know. Blimey, after what we've been through, everyone would understand if you-"

"No," Hermione interrupted, shaking her head, "Ron, you know I can't. I- I've got loads to catch up on. You can't expect a whole year to go by without forgetting a fair portion of Ancient Runes, which I know I have. I will be absolutely ghastly come the start of term."

"Right. Because nobody else is ever ghastly learning a manky old wizard language."

"Ronald! It is not 'manky'!"

Ron tickled her and she batted him away, laughing.

"You do remember how you saved Hogwarts only a few months ago, right?" Ron asked, "Do I need to write it down or something?"

Hermione laughed, "Wouldn't that be something? A book of our lives by Ron Weasley."

"Don't pretend you wouldn't read it. It would have tons of you in it, obviously."

Hermione blushed.

"Let me think," Ron said, putting a finger to his chin, "You know what? I've got it! What about _'Ron Weasley and The Game of Wizard's Chess'_. That'll be the first one."

"You're out of your mind," Hermione said with a wink before sprinting full tilt up a grassy knoll, her white legs flashing under her summer skirt.

"Oi! Wait up!" Ron yelled out, giving chase.


	7. Hagrid and Grawp

Hagrid looked up at his large half-brother

"Well if I tol' you once, you know I've told yeh a dozen times now, Grawpy."

Grawp looked away and sniffled loudly. His shoulders shook. Hagrid sighed. He'd be crying now, that was how it always went with him. Hagrid gently patted Grawp on the wrist, which the giant jerked away in a pouting act of resistance.

"We've got our own Christmas right here. Can't think o' a better place for it than Hogwarts. Did you see the lights the Headmistress put up? They look plenty nice at night. She told me she thought you'd like them. A good woman, McGonagall is."

Grawp waved a hand in irritation and sat with a heavy thud in the snow, his large back away from Hagrid.

"Hermy," Grawp said miserably.

Hagrid held his tongue and shook his head, picking up his snow shovel. Giants. As plain stubborn as they ever got.

"Well now, when you want me, I'll be in the garden doin' a bit o' shoveling."

Grawp grunted. Suddenly, Hagrid had an idea.

"Come to think o' it, you know wha' Grawpy? We don' have ourselves a Christmas tree yet!"

Grawp turned his head slightly. Hagrid grinned, he could tell he had peaked his interest.

"Well like the ones they have in the castle! Grand things they are! We ought to have one for us! For Hagrid and Grawpy."

"No Hermy?"

"Yes, well, you get down to gettin' our tree. I'll be in the garden!" Hagrid shouted up to his brother before turning around.

Fang trotted beside Hagrid, who gave him a hearty pat on the back. Hermione had returned to finish her seventh year, which Hagrid had heartily supported, standing at the train station with a few choice Honking Daffodils for her. She had smiled and thanked him, asking if she could place them in his planter box. After that, she visited when she could between classes. Grawp had taken more than a liking to her and now deeply missed her presence for the holidays.

Hagrid shoveled for a time in peace. Fang snored gratingly beside him, steam rising from his black nose. Hagrid wiped sweat from his brow and turned around. Grawp was standing there, beckoning him to follow.

"Wha' is it now?"

Grawp ran to the front yard of the hut, smiling widely. Hagrid followed and stopped, his eyes wide. Before him, a great pine tree had been planted haphazardly in the snow, gnarled roots half-buried and clods of dirt sprinkled around it. A trail of pine needles led to the forest like a green carpet.

But it was more about what was _on_ the tree. Grawp had yanked off branches of aspen to hang on it, the bright red and yellow leaves shimmering. The weathervane from the shed had been stuck in as well, the metal rooster tilted sideways. There were bright blue feathers dusted on like blueberries in a pie and the rosy plumage of a cardinal. Nestled at the very top was Hagrid's tea pot, a dead fish protruding out of the spout.

Grawp turned to Hagrid expectantly.

"That's- uh- that's some excellent decoratin' you've been up to Grawpy. Where'd yeh find the feathers, by chance?"

The tree creaked for a moment and a scared deer fell out of the branches, landing in a puff of snow before getting up and bolting.

Hagrid blinked then shouted, "Well, good work Grawpy! It'll be a fine tree for Christmas, I expect! How about I put some tea on the- well, how about a spot o' milk?"

Grawp clapped his meaty hands.

"Yes," Hagrid muttered, walking up the step of his hut, "and a bit o' brandy for Hagger."


	8. Vermiscretum

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was dark, lit only by a handful of floating candles. Students avoided sitting directly under them for fear of being stung by hot wax. Professor Noctemis, in a smooth cursive, wrote out the topic of the day on the chalkboard.

"Who feels they have knowledge of The Miserable Trinity?" the professor asked in a soft Eastern European accent, cupping his long pale fingers.

His eyes tracked the room slowly. His gaunt, yet calm face held a vague smile. A girl with plaited auburn hair raised her hand.

"Miss Prewett," the professor said with a smile, revealing fangs, "please, step vorward."

Molly took a breath and stood up. She straightened her maroon sweater and walked to the front, her eyes on the floor as she repeated the three spells in her head. Finally reaching the board, she listed off The Miserable Trinity.

Finished, she turned around and muttered, "And least, I think that's it."

"Ah," Professor Noctemis said, placing his long hands over his heart, "how good it is to see students with some understanding of vork done by our Transylvanian scholars. Thank you, Miss Prewett. Please, have ten points to Gryffindor."

A sixth-year girl snorted in the back of the class, flipping her long black hair behind her chair. Molly frowned and walked back to her seat.

"Ve will begin our day with an in-depth discussion of the first Miserable," Professor Noctemis said, his black eyes flicking over the room, "one I am sure ve are all familiar with now. Vermiscretum."

The sixth-year girl choked out another derisive laugh, her head down as she busily doodled on a piece of parchment. Molly tried to pay attention to the professor, but it was difficult to drown out the sounds of the girl's sarcastic comments and hasty scratching of quill on parchment.

"Oi," Arthur said, leaning over close to Molly, "you see what Crazy Hair's drawing? A bit daft, that one, mark my words."

"She is _not_ daft," Molly hissed, "Bellatrix is something else entirely."

Bellatrix had portrayed in gruesome detail their professor as struck by the Vermiscretum Curse. It was not pretty. There had been a recent incident on a trip to Hogsmeade involving the curse. It was Molly's friend who had found the boy, gasping and writhing in pain behind Honeyduke's.

"Engorged with vorms," Professor Noctemis said grimly, "and left to suffocate by the blocking of the breathing. Vermiscretum is a terrible curse for it kills most of its victims. Many proposed it to be added to the list of Unforgivables. Perhaps it is not too late,yes?"

"Professor," another boy asked, "how do we defend ourselves?"

Bellatrix ripped out a maniacal laugh before cupping her hands. As it was her sixth year, most students were accustomed to her odd manner. But Molly screwed her eyes in focus, shaking her head. She knew Bellatrix completely dismissed this class based solely on their professor's status as a vampire. Molly had seen Bellatrix often enough in the library, poring over this same material, delving deep into books that often crossed the line between healthy interest and obsession.

Really, Molly thought, why was the investigation into the Hogsmeade incident still going on? It seemed more than obvious who the culprit was.

"Professor," Bellatrix suddenly asked, rolling up her parchment sharply, "may I be excused?"

Professor Noctemis nodded his head and continued his lecture. Molly turned her head, watching Bellatrix leave in a saunter.

"What do you think she's doing?" Molly whispered to Arthur.

"You know, I often wonder that myself when you lot go into the ladie's. You girls are mysterious creatures."

"I'm going to follow her."

"And do what? Make sure she has enough toilet paper?"

Molly shot him a poisonous look and stood up.

"I'm sorry, professor, I also have to be excused," she said timidly before bolting out of the dark classroom.

It was dark in the corridor as well. Defense Against the Dark Arts was scheduled for evenings to accommodate Professor Noctemis' special requirements. Molly moved slowly, wand raised. She heard a sound and turned but there was nothing. A door was opened just a crack and there was faint shuffling.

Holding her breath, Molly slowly turned the doorknob and yanked it open. The room was empty save a large wardrobe. Molly was about to turn back when she heard a light scraping noise. The noise came again and Molly realized it was wheezing.

Behind the dresser a leg was sticking out, thrashing wildly. She ran behind the wardrobe and screamed.

"Arthur!"

Arthur was unrecognizable. His body was crawling with worms. Underneath his skin, shapes pulsed and wriggled. From out of his nails and ears, worms burst forth, crawling and moving. He rolled on the ground in pure agony, gagging and turning blue. Worms filled his mouth, he was spewing them violently.

Molly vomited, dropping to her knees. Her eyes were wet with tears, she was immobile with terror.

"ARTHUR!" Molly howled, shaking him.

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _Bellatrix screamed behind her.

Molly tipped on the floor, falling besides the choking Arthur. The tears continued to fall down her cheeks. Behind her, she could hear the dark woman's shrieking laughter. The door slammed shut.

Outside, she heard something. It was shouting. The door burst open again and the gagging stopped. Molly looked over and saw that Arthur was gone. Instead, she saw a duplicate of herself, standing with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Arthur Weasley," this new Molly said, wrinkling her nose "you must be joking! You have to be joking! You want to go out with _me_?"

This new Molly laughed loudly, tossing her head back. Motionless on the ground, Molly was thoroughly confused. Something incredibly disturbing was happening.

"I- I," Arthur whispered behind her, nearly speechless.

" '_I-I_'. What's wrong? Can't even talk to me? Look at you," the new Molly said, " And your family is _so_ poor. Can't afford robes. That what's people say about you, you know. At least, that's what I say about you to Harold. We laugh about you _so_ much! Just laugh about how pathetic you are!"

"That's not true!" Arthur howled, "Blast it! _Riddikulus!_"

The new Molly suddenly smiled and hopped, "Oh my goodness! Did I do that right? That was just plain mean, wasn't that? You don't know how hard it is to keep such a straight face when you're saying such terrible things!"

"Alright now, in you go," Arthur said to the different Molly, shoving her into the wardrobe.

Arthur ran over to Molly, who still laid on the ground. He performed the counter-curse and she collapsed into his arms, coughing and shaking.

"What the bloody hell was that?" She yelled, clutching him hard.

"Boggart. Seems Bellatrix set you up for it."

"She is such a nightmare, Arthur!" Molly yelled as Arthur rocked her.

"Buck up, dear. We're almost rid of her. Just one more year of her to stomach."

At the mention of stomach, Molly proceeded to expel the rest of hers all over the floor.


	9. Daft

Albus Dumbledore tossed an acorn into the air. With a casual flick of his wand, Gellert Grindelwald torched the acorn to ash. Albus tossed another acorn and Gellert made it burst into liquid gold that evaporated on the back porch.

"You think we're really going to do it?" Gellert asked, picking up a rock and chucking it high into the air.

With ease, Albus transformed the rock into a sparrow, which looped spiritedly into the sky. He turned to see if Gellert had noticed, but the golden-haired boy was scribbling something in the black journal he always kept.

"I like to think we could. Why not? You and I on the road to who knows where," Albus said with a wistful grin.

"Look at you with the smiling. This Hallows business has been picking you up, hasn't it?"

Albus stood up and sighed, twirling his wand in his hands.

"Would it be terrible if I said so? How could I possibly leave Ariana?"

Gellert rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. He groaned loudly.

"Every time I bring it up, it's the same old tricks with you, Albus. We can't start a revolution if we're all worried about our daft sisters."

Albus closed his eyes. Gellert felt a twinge of guilt. Turning his back, Albus removed his glasses and methodically cleaned them with the sleeve of his coat. In the silence, Gellert wrote in his journal.

"Gellert?"

"Hmm?"

"I feel as if you are my dearest confidant. Do you understand me?"

"I'm thinking of striking up my Gran again about the cloak."

"Were you listening?"

"Yes, yes, your confidant. I heard you. Can't I be thinking about two things at once?"

Albus paced a length then stopped. A breeze picked up and he buttoned his coat. For a moment, he imagined he was at the edge of an Albanian forest, ready to investigate the village down below. Gellert was by his side, smiling eagerly, brushing a yellow strand of hair out of his bright eyes.

There was a smart stinging on his rear and Albus jumped, surprised. He turned to see Gellert cupping his mouth, holding back his laughter. Ariana stood with her fists clenched and her eyes hard. One of her stockings was navy, the other a brown pinstripe. Her hair had long forgotten a comb or ribbon.

"Ariana, what have I said about using magic?" Albus asked tenderly, stepping forward.

"Don't touch me! I heard what he said about me! I heard him from the kitchen!"

"The neighbors might-"

"I don't care anymore! Let them hear me! Let them hear your daft sister!"

The wind started to whistle in his ears and the birds fled from the trees. Gellert abruptly clapped his book closed and stood up, swiftly wrapping his scarf around his pale neck. He saluted Albus then strode toward the back gate.

"Why don't you look me in the eyes?" Ariana asked faintly to the golden boy, her eyebrows raised in a mixed sorrow.

Gellert released a long breath, one hand already on the latch. His body was tense and his fingers drummed on the back gate. Then, without warning, he snapped his head and stared at her with an overwhelming ferocity. Ariana took a step backwards. Gellert's eyes gleamed like polished onyx. There was something nakedly observant in his look, as if he had stripped Ariana down and found something fundamentally essential to her to be lacking. Albus had only incurred this stare once and it sent the same confusing chill of fear down his body.

"Hmm," Gellert remarked, casually looking away and scratching the back of his head with his notebook.

"Be seeing you, Albus," Gellert called out before slipping out the gate.

Ariana swiveled her head, staring at Albus.

"I'm telling Abe you saw that boy again."

"I am not a child, Ariana."

Ariana crossed her arms, "So you're a savior or something? Going to save the world from itself- is that what it is?"

"Please, I'm asking you not to tell Aberforth about this."

"Why not? With you out of the picture, someone's got to take care of the Loony Baby. Might as well be the one that actually has a heart. Unlike you."

Without thinking, Albus turned on the spot, apparating and disappearing. When he landed, he cursed himself for doing something so reckless. She could have been splinched had she only taken a step forward. Ariana had attempted it before. He appeared on the dark hill that overlooked Godric's Hollow. The village looked small and quiet now. There was no screaming, no crying, no bad magic way up here. No Gellert to disappoint. No Aberforth to shove him into a wall again for making Ariana angry.

There was only himself. There was only ever himself and the thought resonated in him so that it caused a deep vibration in his stomach. The vibrating grew louder until it reached the tips of his fingers and back of his throat. And then he was sobbing. The tree branches above him bent sideways in the chilling winds and he clasped the collar of his coat tight around his neck.


	10. Darkness

Nagini was curled tightly by Voldemort's feet. Her eyes were closed as she rested by the crackling fire. The pale man placed a crystal goblet down onto the table and swallowed the acidic wine. With a fork and knife, he cut his steak into a small square and held it to his nose and sniffed.

"I assure you, my Lord, our new cook is-"

"_Taking their time getting acquainted?" _Voldemort replied quietly, "_It has been an exceptionally long time, Lucius. Much longer, I believe, than we should continue to permit."_

Narcissa dabbed her red lips with a cloth napkin and cleared her throat.

"Please forgive us," she said with her eyes cast down, "Matilda only wishes to serve in whatever manner she is able-"

"_I have heard enough_," Voldemort said, placing his fork down, the steak still pierced upon it.

Underneath the table, Narcissa grabbed Lucius's wrist. Voldemort cocked his head and smiled a serpant's grin.

"_Does my presence frighten you, Narcissa?_"

"No, not at all. Please, my Lord, my sorrow lies in failing you! I will talk to our cook immediately to reconcile this matter."

Voldemort held up a weary hand for silence. With his other hand, he picked up his wand beside his plate.

"_Bring her to me_."

There was a crashing sound and shouting. Two Deatheaters restrained a young woman with thick arms and a sweating forehead. She drove her foot into one Deatheater's boot and bit the other on the knuckles.

"_You shall obey me!_" Voldemort commanded, rising from his seat and swinging out his wand.

The woman suddenly froze, her limbs unable to move though she continued to wrench herself back and forth as if to break free of the invisible bonds. Matilda the cook was crying as she struggled miserably. Narcissa looked away and clutched Lucius tightly.

"Please! I'm sorry! I will be better next time! I will be better!" Matilda bellowed hoarsely, tears streaming down her flushed face and her dress clearly soiled.

Voldemort took a step forward with his hands behind his back, his black robe swishing around him. He was silent for a moment as he watched the shaking woman.

"_I wonder, Narcissa, that as this young woman lacks a knowledge of our refinement she may be also bearing false witness to her purity."_

"We would never hire a mudblood, my Lord! Nothing like such filth!" Lucius replied.

"_Even the most loyal may be fooled Lucius. Diseased blood, however, can be spotted in diminished power. For a pure-blood, a task such as cooking would be simple."_

"I am pure!" Matilda screamed, "Please, Narcissa, tell him! I swear, I don't have a single drop!"

"_That's enough!_" Voldemort yelled, slicing the air with his wand.

A bloody slash ripped across her right cheek. Matilda cried out in hot pain as the blood stained her face. Narcissa made to stand, but Lucius grabbed her by the arm and pushed her firmly down into her seat. Voldemort rolled his tongue in his cheek and stepped forward, Nagini winding between his legs like an eager pup.

"_You must be keenly aware, Matilda, that I never wish to kill a pure-blood. It happens, of course, but only when necessary. Only when nothing else shall remedy their betrayal"_

Matilda bent her head down, avoiding his violent stare. He liked when they trembled but it was more satisfying when they looked. Their eyes would dance with terror, glittering and reflecting his own eyes which he knew were controlled. His wand hand twitched as he thought of that green glow on their faces. One moment, they were alive and fueled by the chemicals of fear. The next and the puppet strings that suspended life were snapped and they would fall crumbled.

He wanted to kill her. Her blood was pure but she represented the weakness that had invaded the final stronghold of the wizarding world. It was time to hack at every dead limb,Voldemort thought, including those close to the trunk.

Voldemort had the curse on his tongue and his wand was raised. But then he stopped. For the first first time, he held back. It was not out of mercy. There had not been a flicker of doubt. It was because behind the suspended woman was a silvery figure that had not been there before

"_Lucius!" _Voldemort hissed, his red eyes glowing.

"My master!"

"_Take this repulsion out of here! Bellatrix will see that she learns."_

Wordlessly Lucius gestured to the two Deatheaters who removed her from the room. Lucius bowed low to him and then walked hurriedly to follow. Narcissa swiftly rose and tucked in her chair and fled to her husband. Voldemort stood still. The silvery woman stared at him.

"_I am capable of removing you," _Voldemort said in a lethal whisper.

"We both know that is a lie," the woman said, stepping forward into the light of the fire.

It was Amelia Bones, her hair pulled back and her square jaw set. She wore her Ministry robes and crossed her arms.

"_Do you believe you are the first to visit me? Do you believe yourself to be special?" _Voldemort asked.

The silvery shape moved like mercury, transforming into Lily Potter. Her fists were clenched.

"Your weakness betrays you."

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The ghostly substance scattered like smoke, rolling and dissipating. But it curled like a soft whisper and built back up again. This time, Mad- Eye Moody took a jilting step forward, screwing his eye at Voldemort.

"Can't hit what's not there," Moody replied, raising a scarred eyebrow.

The fire in the fireplace suddenly extinguished and Voldemort was plunged into darkness. He spun around, the tip of his wand ignited and throwing strange shadows against the walls. He turned toward the large dining table and saw that now seated at the very end was a man. When the man looked up, his half-moon spectacles glinted in the wand light.

"_CRUCIO!" _Voldemort cried.

The ghost figure splintered apart like broken glass. With a snarl, Voldemort spun his wand above his head and lit up all the hanging chandeliers and torch brackets. But sitting on the mantle and hanging from the chandeliers was the half-moon-spectacle man. He now filled every seat at the table and stood like a waiting army in the large hall. There was an innumerable yet silent multitude. They all stared calmly back at Voldemort.

The nearest Albus, seated close at the table, said in a conversational tone, "When will you see that we are not going anywhere?"

"_You lie! You, I saw you. You are dead,"_ Voldemort picked up a maniacal laugh, "_THE GREAT DUMBLEDORE IS DEAD!"_

The many silvery shapes converged into one bright being. It took the form of Gellert Grindelwald who stood neatly with his hands behind his back. The twinkle of wry intelligence lit his transparent eyes.

"Death has never been your enemy. But it will be your prison."

Voldemort pointed his wand at the spot where Grindelwald stood. A burst of fire plumed up and Voldemort's eyes were twin reflections of the blaze. Gellert took a step forward out of the fire.

"A balance must be met. The emptiness inside of you must be filled. And it has. We reside in you and it makes us more alive than you can ever be."

The silvery substance shuttered then disappeared. It reappeared at the threshold into the darkened corridor. It was the ghostly image of Dumbledore the first time he introduced himself.

"_I know this is a trick, Dumbledore. You are no ghost."_

Dumbledore sighed and put on his hat, saying, "And only a child or a fool would think so. To your health, Tom."

With that, the silvery man melted into the long shadow of Voldemort.


	11. Nargles in the Mistletoe

Luna Lovegood hummed tunelessly to herself as she hung up the mistletoe on the mantle above the staircase.

"Love, you checked for Nargles?" Xenophilius asked, poking his head out of the kitchen.

Luna nodded, "I picked these myself just yesterday."

Her father smiled. He was stirring a large bowl of an unidentifiable green substance.

"That's my girl. The stuffed turkey will be ready in about an hour."

A kitchen timer dinged.

"And that would be the doxy egg cakes!" he shouted, ducking back into the kitchen.

Luna smiled and straightened out her velvet blue dress. She caught herself in the large mirror in the living room. Her hair was longer now and the scars on her face were all but faded. Everything seemed like it was getting back to how it was. The second story to their home had just finished construction. Just in time for Christmas.

The doorbell rang.

"Luna, darling!" her father shouted.

Luna rubbed her carrot earrings, a gift from Hermione, for luck. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob. It was Neville but he wore a tight grimace.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"'I'm sorry'? Is that the way you introduce your Gran to this beautiful young woman?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, heaving up the final step to the front porch.

The rotund woman held out a chubby hand, "Augusta Longbottom. And may I say it is an immense pleasure to meet a fellow freedom fighter."

"Luna Lovegood. Neville has told me so much about you."

"Yes, well he would, wouldn't he?" Mrs. Longbottom said, giving her a tired look.

"Do I hear Augusta out there?" Xenophilius asked, opening up the door more and cracking a gay smile.

"Xenophilius! It has been positively too long!" Mrs. Longbottom declared, throwing out her hands and wrapping the wiry man in her arms.

Neville squeezed past them, his hand already in Luna's. She led him into the kitchen where a recently bound up garden gnome was singing off-color versions of Christmas songs.

"Ron and Hermione came over a few days ago," Luna explained, pointing to the gnome, "Ron thought it would add some holiday cheer and so far, I have discovered that gnomes have a profound aptitude for improvisation."

"_And a partridge up Merlin's-"_

"I hope it's alright bringing Gran and all," Neville said, "she's been a terror these past few days. Buying presents, returning presents, drafting letters to Shacklebolt and calling Harry about new Deatheater sightings, I'm telling you, she's like a one-woman tornado."

"Neville! Did you bring up the gifts for our hosts?" Gran screeched from the living room.

Neville looked down at his hands, "She knows I haven't."

Luna rubbed Neville's arm tenderly. He took her hand and kissed it.

"You're all I got, you know," he said, rubbing her hand with his thumb.

"How about we go down together?" Luna suggested amiably.

The two walked past Xenophilius and Mrs. Longbottom, who were heading to the kitchen and chatting loudly. Neville and Luna escaped into the the bitter cold of December, the wind picking up and the snow falling. But with the door closed, there was a calm.

Neville looked over at Luna and smiled. She linked her arm in his and they walked down the steps.

"My father's been busy, too, you know. He believes a few of the remaining Deatheaters are living in Scotland. One of his friends overheard a conversation between a mermaid and captain."

"Harry's told me all about it," Neville said, grabbing the wrapped gifts from the old car, "Er- I mean- about the Auror business. I don't think the Ministry pays attention to the merpeople so much."

"And a shame, really," Luna replied, "They travel extensively. Little language distinction between them as well. My father has campaigned in his paper extensively for Mermish to become the standard for international communication. Of course, you've probably seen it in the copy we mail out every month."

"Uh- right."

The two carried the gifts back up and Neville stopped at the porch, taking a deep breath.

"Luna, what are we going to do now?"

"Open up presents I suppose."

"It's just that everyone's off doing things and I'm stuck with Gran all day."

Luna brought up her slender hand to his face and cupped his cheek.

"I like what we have now. Every day I wake up and think of how happy this makes me."

Neville lit up, his face turned into a wide smile. The present in his hand almost slipped.

"Oh no! My father left the doxy egg cakes in the oven!" Luna said, throwing open the door and bolting inside.

Old music crackled to life on a phonograph. It was uptempo and jazzy. A smooth man's voice came on.

"You have Hornton Viberrato! Well I haven't heard him in ages!" Mrs. Longbottom shouted from the living room.

"An invitation to a dance if I ever heard one!" Xenophilius responded merrily.

Neville chuckled and walked in. He hoped he could have a dance with the girl with carrot earrings.


	12. Not So Scary

"Gran, what's that?"

"Don't touch that button, your fingers are sticky."

"This itches me, Gran."

"It's a collar. Now stop yanking at it so. I should like to tie your hands behind your back if you don't stop fidgeting!"

The lift cruised to a stop. The smooth woman's voice announced that they had reached their destination at St. Mungo's Hospital- the permanent ward.

"And have a happy Christmas," the cool voice added.

"This is us, dove," Mrs. Longbottom said, shoving Neville none-too-gently out of the lift, "Now hold Gran's hand."

Neville gulped and tugged at his starched collar. He was six, a big boy age according to Gran. Much too old for crying during Mummy Daddy Time. Much too old to be scared of Mummy and Daddy's special friends that walked in bright white robes.

"Look, Neville. You see they hung lights up? Adds a good bit of cheer, doesn't it?"

"Like the ones we've got at home," he replied.

"And here they are! Come on then, dove, say hi to Mummy and Daddy."

Neville gripped his Gran's hand tighter. It always made him feel scared to be around these strange people. Deep down, he knew that they were his parents. But a mum and a dad were supposed to kiss you before they went to work or sit up with you when you were sick or come to your dance show. They, however, sat around all day and made funny noises or sometimes cried just like a little baby. That was always the worst, the crying. It made his stomach hurt.

"Alice, my dear, is that a new hat? Did you see your Mummy's new hat?"

Neville looked up and saw that his mother was hovering only inches away with what seemed to be a giant monster on her head. He gasped in alarm and backed away. Alice cocked her head in confusion. She took the monster off and handed it with a wide grin to Neville.

"A gift! How perfect, dear!"

Neville blinked at what his mother presented him. It was just a large jester hat complete with bells. Not so scary. He slid it on. It was warm and for some reason this soothed him.

"And how is my son?" Gran asked cheerfully.

Alice pointed to the bed beside her. Her husband was sitting but focused on something he held in his hands. When he noticed Neville and his mother approach, Frank jumped a little in surprise. Neville swooped behind Gran's protective expanse, clinging to her skirt.

"Neville, darling. Your father has something to show you! It seems like they both came ready with gifts this year. How truly sweet of you both."

Neville peered from behind Gran's skirt. A large snake suddenly popped in front of his eyes, hissing. Its fangs were long and its eyes were red. Neville howled in fear, tears staining his rosy cheeks. His father frowned and moaned, looking frantically at Mrs. Longbottom.

"No, no, Frank, it's all right," Gran said reassuringly, "It's all right. Here, let me show it to him."

Gran bent down and held the snake to Neville. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was not scary at all. It was a puppet made from a paper bag.

"See? Your father has always been handy with the paints now. Go ahead, you can hold it."

Neville tentatively stuck his hand into the paper bag. He opened and closed the mouth. The fangs would lash out then disappear again. His father made happy noises as he watched, clapping his hands and nodding. Alice shuffled over and Frank wrapped his arm around her, kissing her on the cheek.

"Hissss!" Neville yelled, snapping the puppet out at Gran.

"Good heavens! Why it's a huge snake! Somebody save me!" Gran said, pantomiming fright.

Neville bopped the puppet on the head and shook his finger, scolding the snake thoroughly.


	13. Beyond

Sirius pushed back his shining dark locks out of his face, staring down at his chess piece.

"It's not going to move by itself, you know," Remus Lupin piped in quietly.

"Remus, you know perfectly well not _all _of us went to wizard's chess camp during their summer holidays."

Remus sat back in his chair and chuckled, stroking his facial hair. His eyes were no longer gaunt, the scars that once marred his face were less than a thought.

Sirius finally picked up his knight and made his move. Remus grimaced, sucking in his breath.

"You always do that!" Sirius shouted.

"Do what?"

"Well it's your move, anyway. Rather, it's your turn to send one of my comrades to the guillotine. Go on, let the revolution commence."

Remus bit his tongue. He had never witnessed a finer pair than Sirius and Melodrama. Swiftly, as if to remove a bandage, Remus sent forth his bishop. The chess piece stood up from his chair and dealt a powerful roundhouse kick, blasting a pawn into oblivion. Sirius sunk a few centimeters into his seat.

"And they call this The Beyond. You know what's really beyond?" Sirius asked sourly.

"Your inability to lose graciously?"

Sirius stuck his tongue out and stood up. He aggressively ran both hands through his hair until it was thoroughly disheveled. A long path filled out before him and he set off on it.

"Come on, then, while there's still light out," Sirius said, waving his hand for Remus to follow.

Remus took a breath and furrowed his brow. Was that a joke? Did it really get dark around here? Everything was just so bloody difficult to discern now. On top of that and to the surprise of none, the guidance of his occasionally belligerent, impossibly dramatic, and pridefully boorish friend had been of questionable use so far.

But, as always, Remus followed.

"And here we have the pool," Sirius said as he gestured grandly to a white blankness.

"I don't see anything," Remus said, peering carefully.

"You don't? Well then, never you mind it," Sirius responded, winking saucily at the emptiness, "No, no, love, I'll come back later, once I ditch this old ball and chain."

"Sirius!"

"Right. On with the tour."

"What's that over there?"

"What's what?"

"That!" Remus said in a strangled tone, spreading his hands out in the direction of a fine pavilion.

"What now?" Sirius said, spinning around in circles like a child lost in a crowd.

"You don't see it? It looks like a library," Remus said, walking up a marble staircase.

Several books came fluttering out of the open doors, spinning around him. Remus was enchanted.

"A library? What, with books?" Sirius shook his head wearily, "Mate, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're incredibly deceased. This, this thing all around you- this is called the afterlife. Here, how about a proper introduction."

"Sirius."

"No, no, this is for your own good. Trust me. I'm a professor."

"No, _I'm _a professor."

"Not anymore!" Sirius said, bursting into laughter, bending over and gripping his side.

Remus stood still, crossing his arms. The picture of unamused.

"Well," Sirius said, wiping away a tear, "some of us take longer than others to develop a sense of humor. Even if it kills us!"

"SIRIUS!"

"Merlin's left testicle, alright then. Don't get all your paperwork out of alphabetical order. The jokes are just a little something we like to do around here. Now," Sirius said as put his hands together as if in prayer, "All I am asking is that before I completely lose you to the lost books of Alexandria or whatever it is in there, I would like to take you out for one night. Just one. Promise. I'll return you in one piece."

Remus looked his old friend up and down. That crooked smile. Those eyes that promised nothing reputable. Sighing, he walked down the marble stairs. Sirius lit up, patting Remus on the back.

And as always, Remus followed.


	14. Christmas Snitch

Katie Bell held aloft a twinkling snitch ornament.

"Oli, come see what my Mum sent us!"

Oliver Wood stuck his head out of the small kitchen into the tiny living room. He smiled when he saw the replica golden snitch. Wiping a glass with a towel, he shook his head.

"She's got notions for you, Katie. She's not taking your no for an answer, I can bet you that."

"Even so, it's quite gorgeous."

Katie stood up and placed it on the Christmas tree, a towering fir that overwhelmed their miniscule flat. The snitch dangled and spun around and Katie grinned. The first ornament of the season.

"Now look at that," Oliver breathed, behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, "we've got our own Christmas right here."

"It's alright with you, then?" Katie asked, turning around to face him and lifting an eyebrow.

"What? The ornament?"

"No, Oliver. The whole me-not-trying-out thing."

Oliver stroked her face tenderly, "' Course it is. You want to travel."

Katie's face fell, "And so do you. With Puddlemere."

Katie plopped down onto the couch, her head in her hands, "And I don't know what I'm going to do when you've got to leave again."

"Katie, Katie, Katie. My Katie Bug," Oliver said, sitting beside her and grabbing her hand, "Is this what this has been about? My tour doesn't pick up again in ages. We have all the holidays to spend together. And you've got all your exciting plans with Angelina and Alicia. Spain. Australia. New York City!"

Katie Bell stood up, "It's not about missing you. Not quite. There's a war here, Oliver. I- I talked to Ang and Alicia just yesterday. They're not going anywhere. Not anymore. Not with the killings and the disappearings."

"And both of us will do what we can," Oliver replied, stroking her arm.

"What we're doing is not enough anymore, Oliver!" Katie said, jerking her arm away, "And I don't know what's going to happen. With you off on your tour, I just don't know where I'll find the strength for this fight. And it frightens me, Oliver."

Katie burst into sobs, covering her face with a hand. Oliver leapt up and held her tightly, pressing his forehead against hers. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms until her crying slowed and she sniffled, looking up into his eyes.

"Katie Bell, you're all I've got," Oliver murmured, pecking her on the lips, "And I feel foolish for not seeing this sooner. We will stay. I will stay. Here. With you."

"No, Oliver, don't say that."

"I know the Puddlemere gig is important, but I think you would find me a right bastard if I left just as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named became the new headmaster at Hogwarts. And I'd deserve it too, wouldn't you say?"

The corner of Katie's mouth twitched in a faint smile.

"Ay, I saw that. Was that a smile?"

"No. Shut up."

"Oh is that so?" Oliver asked, tickling her furiously.

"Lay off me you wicked beast, you!"

"You know, I'd rather lay _on _you," Oliver said, pushing her down onto the carpet, sprinkling her forehead and neck with kisses.

"Oliver!"


	15. The Headless Bard

"And so there I was, the beautiful Lady Sarita in my arms," Nearly Headless Nick crooned, "It was past midnight. Her father, the king of Spain, had known of our love and attempted to thwart us by sending out seven identical carriages. But I knew to look for the one with the red lace handkerchief."

"And then what happened?" a small first year asked as he sat in the corner of the Gryffindor common room. His eyes were as big as the Cornish pasties he downed with zeal every night in the Great Hall and he seemed even smaller in the overstuffed armchair. Nick hovered in an armchair beside him.

"I waited, crouched like a peasant on the muddy roads. It was January, mind you, and the roads were nothing short of ruinous. But, as I said before, my love for Lady Sarita knew no limits. After a time, the carriages came rolling down the hill. And there it was, waving out of the window of the very last carriage. There was the red lace handkerchief. Well, like the dashing devil that I was, I hopped into the blasted thing and we embraced most passionately."

Nick wavered at this point, his fist propping up his chin as he dreamily stared off into the distance. The boy dug his hand into his coat pocket, taking out a bit of fudge his older sister had purchased from her first trip to Hogsmeade. He wondered wistfully when she could go back again for more.

"Sorry. Seemed to have lost the trail there for a moment. In any case, Lady Sarita held me close and asked if I loved her. Naturally, I found this to be an absurd question. Had I not answered this before at the Christmas ball?"

"Or at the Spring Gala?" the boy added, chewing on the fudge.

"Yes! And at the Spring Gala the year before! Time and time again, we had sworn our most deepest loyalties to one another, even if her father did not accept me. So, of course, I told her again that I loved her. But it had been a trap."

The boy leaned forward in his chair.

"An invisibility cloak was whipped off right there in the carriage and I nearly expired in my seat. It was Lorenzo!"

"No!" the boy gasped, dropping his fudge into his lap, "but he told everyone he was going to become a monk in the East! He said the war had changed him!"

Nick shook his head, "A fine lie from a foul brute. Yes, in truth, Lorenzo had been spying on us with a invisibility cloak of such quality it can scarcely be believed. Though there are rumors that lurk pertaining to an object of that nature but the details, of course, are as obscure as a myth is wont to be."

The clock in the corner chimed twelve times. The boy stared wide-eyed at his ghostly companion.

"Correct me if I am wrong, my most dedicated acquaintance, but is this not a proper hour to be headed off to bed?" Nick asked gently, leaning over.

The boy looked down at his hands and nodded slowly.

"But did Lady Sarita end up with Lord Lorenzo?" the boy whispered.

"Oh, well, now _there_ is an interesting question with an equally intriguing answer. As it so happens, there was a most important event following that incident. The King of Spain announced a competition for the hand of his beautiful daughter. It would be a series of obstacles, each more impossible than the last. But I was in love and what's more, there was my honor-bound duty to my late brother to defeat Lord Lorenzo, his murderer and our half-brother. So I devised a most cunning plot to escape with the Lady involving a team of horses, a crate of the finest French wine and a trunk filled with minstrel attire."

The boy settled into his armchair and nodded along, happily munching on his fudge and listening.


	16. The Portrait

A chilling wind woke Bellatrix LeStrange. She flinched and gathered her dark jacket closer. Standing, she walked to the window and snapped the frame down.

"I thought I closed you," she murmured wearily.

She looked out at the dark landscape of her portrait. Bleak hills, twisted dead trees and a black sea. Outside, it rained hard and the stirring wind rattled the windowpane.

Where is he, Bellatrix thought as she tracked the sailing black clouds. The kettle came to a piercing boil. Bellatrix fished out two mugs from a small wooden cabinet and poured the tea. She took an experimental sip and blanched. Someone would pay for this horrific supply of ingredients. If only she could remember who.

"Evening, Bellatrix!" Sirius cried, the front door thrown open, muddy leaves sweeping inside.

Bellatrix screamed something but it was lost to the gales.

"I'm sorry, what?" Sirius asked, cupping his ear playfully, his scarf lifting up in the animated wind.

Bellatrix snarled, her eyes raw malice. Jovially, Sirius closed the door, the high winds cut short. Dripping wet and a puddle forming under his boots, Sirius flashed a bright smile.

"Have you got the tea on?" Sirius asked, stepping forward and unwrapping his red scarf.

Bellatrix pointed a bony finger to the cracked steaming mugs on the bare table.

"And sugar?"

"You know I haven't got any," Bellatrix said with a scowl.

"You don't? Shame. Back at my-"

"I don't want to hear about _your _place!" Bellatrix snapped, drawing out her chair and sitting down.

Sirius bit his lip and sat down. Rarely had he been able to hold something over his dreadfully moody cousin. He knew she must have held out a long time alone in a dreary shack before she had sent an owl. Her message, once you got through the usual dose of back-handed compliments, outright hostilities and even a vague threat or two, had a twinge of desperation. Between the lines of the letter, he had glimpsed a slight breeze of change.

"You seeing anyone else these days?" Bellatrix asked morosely, stirring her tea.

Sirius ran a hand through his wet mane and said, "Can't say that I do. Phineas Nigellus stops by on occasion, sends his regards by the way. Bloke would drink me dry it that were possible!"

Sirius laughed heartily, taking a big swig of the tea. Bellatrix drummed her nails on her mug.

" 'Drink'? What else do you have there?"

"Oh, Bella, let's not go through this again-"

"No, no. I'm just curious. Why can't I be making polite conversation?"

Sirius choked on his tea. Bellatrix has used the word "polite" as if it were a rusty, unused thing. Or a package that had never been opened. Bellatrix threw up her hands and stood up.

"You know what? Forget it."

"Wait, wait, wait. Bellatrix, come on now. It's not so bad here, you know," Sirius said, standing up and grabbing her wrist.

"You let go of me, you coward and traitor!" Bellatrix seethed, her other hand reaching for her-

For her-

"Wand?" Sirius asked.

Bellatrix dropped her eyes, "That's not funny."

Sirius spread out his hands, "This isn't about humiliating you! There are new rules here and you get used to them."

Bellatrix, for almost an imperceptible moment, wavered. Her eyes were distant and she bit her lip.

"They had a son," she whispered.

"I know."

Bellatrix rubbed at the corner of her eye and huffed. She grabbed her large draping cloak from the hook and swung it on.

"And they never told anyone," She said.

"They never told you. And for good reason."

Bellatrix suddenly turned on Sirius, "His dog blood runs through that thing's veins! He will be just as wretched as the lot of them!"

Sirius stood, "For once, Bella, listen to what you are saying! Teddy is just a small boy!"

Bellatrix crossed her arms, "You and I both know what even a small child is capable of."

"Yes," Sirius nodded, "I do. With love, a great many things are possible."

Bellatrix screamed with rage, twirling around. She flung open the door and a torrent of rain whipped her face, drenching her hair. She shut the door and growled, removed her coat.

"You always have such ghastly weather here, Bellatrix. Ever thought of moving?"

Bellatrix mumbled something.

"Come again?" Sirius asked.

"You know I can't, you sore arse."

Sirius frowned for a moment. He gasped and looked at his watch, slapping his forehead.

"I nearly forgot! Severus is coming round for dinner. And, pheasant, as you know, can take a very long time to-"

"Go," Bellatrix hissed, "now."

Sirius buttoned his jacket and wrapped on his scarf. He avoided his cousin's gaze, her look of hurt more than he could ever stand. The most brutal people had that sort of habit when they came to this new world. For example, Severus had finally softened up after some considerable effort. He had even tried his hand at a joke the night before at a Headmaster party. Some of the Old Order had been there and it had been a rather swinging event. Helga Hufflepuff and a former Durmstrang Headmaster had disappeared into a pastel hanging in the professors' lavatory, as the rumors went.

In time, Sirius though, his maddening and hard-headed Bellatrix would get used to it. They all did.

"Another evening then," Sirius said softly, bowing slightly then leaving.

Bellatrix crossed her arms bitterly, facing away from the windows and her kitchen. She was pointed toward a different wall. The fourth wall. Below her, she could see the back of their heads- one a fierce red and the other a silky white. They sat close to one another on the couch, the red-headed oe with his arm around the other. Bright daylight streamed down on them.

The white-haired one raised him up in the air. Teddy Lupin, held aloft in his adoptive mother's arms, gurgled and giggled, his large eyes dazzled by the people who held him and played with him. Bill Weasley stood up from the couch and twirled the boy around in circles.

"And Teddy's taken the quaffe- he's going, he's going, and he's made it in! Another brilliant goal for Puddlemere's finest!"

Fleur whistled and clapped. Teddy shrieked with happiness. For a moment, Teddy's curious eyes met Bellatrix. Her heart froze, she felt shrunken. The little boy looked away from her and returned to his game, leaving Bellatrix in her shack that would never stop raining.


	17. O Captain My Captain

You were always the listener, the bystander but right now standing and listening felt wrong. As you watched the boy wincing in fright on the ground, folding in on himself to block the blows, you strode forward and tapped his tormentor on the shoulder.

"What d'you want?"

And you delivered a right-hook that could have shaken every pure-blood leaf off this bully's family tree. The punch knocked him backwards, over his victim and onto the pavement. He clutched his nose, the blood streaming and smearing in unpleasant ways all over his emerald scarf.

Okay. Perhaps "always the listener" was a bit of stretch when it came to me. Let's face it, if given the choice between idly standing by or wailing on Scabior- well then, it wasn't even a choice, now, was it?

"You broke my nose, you wretched mudblood!" he shouted up at me in a nasally cry as he used his scarf to plug up his bleeding orifice.

I shifted the form of my nose so that it appeared large and bulbous. Warts, little hairy bits, the works.

"Then get a new one," I said, my nose then shifting into a straight, aquiline number, "or can you not do that? Well, I suppose you would have done so already if you could. Shame about the ugly thing."

"Yes, oh, I see," Scabior said, standing up, his scarf still clogging his nostrils, "The mudblood thinks she's something special. Well, Nymphadora, your little tricks may amuse your other Hufflepuffs..."

He turned around for affirmation. The boys behind him, Feed-Grade Slytherins with just enough sense between them to fill an ink bottle, chuckled and nudged each other. Really? Just the word "Hufflepuffs" was enough to conjure amusement from these twats? Had they any clue?

"My name is Tonks," I said, stepping forward, my eyes shifting into snake eyes, "I think we both know a little something about idiotic names, isn't that right, _Antares_?"

I turned to the boys and hissed with a forked tongue. A few of them backed away. Cowards, the lot.

Scabior raised his wand, "Don't start anything you can't finish, silly girl."

The boy that had been crouched in terror on the ground rose up sharply. His brow was furrowed.

"Hey!" The boy said, pointing at Scabior, "This one was saying something about Hufflepuffs!"

I sighed and massaged by temples, "Julian, please! Not now."

Alright, I will always dutifully defend my fellow Hufflepuffs. We truly are a sharp bunch, just look at our O.W.L. scores. Well, not _mine_, obviously, but you get the idea. But I must confess that in the intellectual armory that is my beloved house we may contain a few rounded-at-the-end kitchen knives. Julian fell in said category.

"What did he say about us, Tonks?"

And he was my best friend.

"Does it matter? Julian, he's a prick, we hate him."

"Hey, you know I can hear you," Scabior said.

"Thank you. _And _he just kicked you in the side because he thought you looked at him funny!"

"Well he did," Scabior added.

"Well I did," Julian noted.

"Of course you did! We always look at him funny! He's a greasy worm not fit to infest a troll's big toe!"

"That's it!" Scabior said, shoving Julian to the side, "I've heard about enough. Tomorrow, _Nym. Pha. Dor. A_. We duel. Midnight. The astronomy tower."

I shook my head and turned around. Some first years cowered. I had forgotten that my eyes were still serpentine. Eh, I didn't mind.

"Did you hear me?" Scabior called out, "Or is the freakish mudblood afraid?"

I offered him a rude hand gesture. No, wait, that wasn't generous enough. I gave him a second helping.

"Another brilliant moment for the Hufflepuffs!" Scabior cried, "I'll be there, even if your cowardly behind won't be!"

I turned a corner. Julian looked at me, smiling broadly.

"We'll get that bastard tomorrow then, right?" He asked.

I looked at him. Julian, my confidante and best friend of five years. The things I had said earlier about him being a rounded-at-the-end kitchen knife? He was also of a final-man-on-the-battlefield, o-captain-my-captain, as-the-trolls-come-in caliber of loyal. Meaning he was worth it. And nothing else mattered. Not pride, not proving anyone wrong.

Not even teaching Scabior the meaning of losing shamefully (read:spectacularly) in a duel.

Because, come on, what other choice would he have?


	18. The Symbol of Death

Luna took Neville by the hand into the Forbidden Forest. It had snowed the night before and their thick boots crunched in the white landscape.

"Nice to be back," Neville whispered, fog curling in front of him.

He looked down at his hand clutched in hers. He felt as if his heart would swoop up into his throat. Her touch, her long fingers in his hands felt comforting in a way he could scarcely describe.

"I've been a few times now to visit Hagrid. He asked me to keep an eye on the Nargle infestation in his gardens. Luckily, I believe he was mistaken. All I have found are perfectly harmless Blibbering Humdingers."

"Hey...Luna?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we going?"

"You mean you don't seem them yet?" Luna asked cheerfully, turning back to him. Her large watery eyes held that sparkle that threatened Neville's faculties of speech.

Neville scanned the frozen landscape. See what? In the Forbidden Forest it could be anything. Was it one of Luna's creatures- the kind that only she could see? _That only she could see..._

"We're looking for Thestrals, aren't we?" Neville asked, his grip tighter in her hands.

Luna stopped them.

"I think I hear something," she said quietly.

They were in a field. It was silent, the air was crisp. Overhead, a black crow swept across the white sky. Out of the tree line, a thin shape jetted out and snatched the bird mid-flight.

"Oh, they are here!" Luna squealed, jumping a little in excitement, digging through her bag.

Neville gulped. He was struggling to match her enthusiasm for the eery creatures. Luna made a sound of approval, having found what she was looking for. It was a dripping red chunk of raw meat. The meat stained the pure snow. Without ceremony, she leaned back, her arm raised and then she threw it forward with all her strength. It landed with a faint plop under the trees at the edge of the field.

It only took a few moments for them to appear. Four thestrals trotted out shyly, their sinewy leather skin contrasted in the snowy forest. The largest raised its head. Neville almost drew back. Protruding out of its bony head were gigantic black horns.

"Look, Neville! Like reindeer!"

"What? Those things sticking out of his head?"

"Exactly! Don't they look just like them? My father loves the wintertime when the males grow their mating horns. I feel it really adds something to the season."

"Er-"

"And then they lose them as the snow melts. It's all a cycle. Birth, death, renewal. Maybe that's why I love them. They're a symbol."

Neville coughed and adjusted his beanie, "Bit of a scary symbol. What about baby ducks or- or butterfly migrations? Those are, you know, pretty good, too."

Luna turned and looked at him warmly, "You know, the Elder Wand had a thestral tail hair. Only someone who understood these creatures, I think, could understand that wand."

"Only someone who understands death, you mean," Neville said quietly, watching the bony creatures before him take ravenous bites out of the chunk of meat.

"Death is just a symbol, too. Just another turn on the cycle, that's all," Luna said dreamily, "Come on, let's get a little closer."

Neville bit his lip but he allowed himself to be taken closer to the skeletal animals. The herd was now watching them, even making low clicking noises. But it was not frightening sound, he thought. A juvenile thestral ambled forward, cocking its head in curiosity.

"Go ahead. They like it when you pet behind the ears," Luna urged, scooting Neville forward.

Neville gulped again and brought out a hesitant hand. The thestral eyed the hand and met it with its smooth nose.

"Hey, look, it's like a dog," Neville whispered in pleasure, a smile on his lips.

"You're doing really well. Keep talking quietly, they like that," Luna encouraged, placing a hand on his back..

Neville continued to scratch the friendly creature, who crooned in a satisfied tone. It closed its eyes in satisfaction.

"When I look at them, I can't help but think of my Grandfather," Neville began, "Or, now, I suppose, the people I saw when we were fighting just a few months ago. People who died, I mean. But, it's not a bad memory. I- I don't feel sad when I see them. They just remind me, I guess."

"I know what you mean," Luna replied, "Sometimes, when I'm alone with them, I talk to them about my mother. They seem to enjoy it."

Neville leaned over and gently kissed Luna on the cheek. When he kissed her, he tasted a thin tear that had fallen on her cheek. Truly, she was the most beautiful person, he thought. In the whole world, he knew that right now and right here was where he was supposed to be.


	19. Lily

Lily swung up, her hand about to clutch the stars. The tips of her fingers ached for them but her swing reached its peak and it pulled her down to earth. She gripped the chains of the swing tighter and threw her legs forward to gain more momentum. Lily rose a little higher but it still was not enough.

Closing her eyes, she silently called forth that beautiful but taboo rush of warmth. Each day it became easier to do this, like welcoming a friend that had always been there. She had learned a few of her new friend's mannerisms, too, such as a particular fondness for new moons. Lily felt that it also enjoyed an uninhibited view of the twinkling stars.

The sand under her feet picked up and swirled about. The trees began to creak and dance to this new song. Lily was plunged headfirst into the inky heavens. Past tops of roofs and tree-lines, she raced into the sky. The world was hers, her arms extended wide to grasp it.

"Lily?"

Lily shook her head. She snapped out of her concentration. What was going on?

"LILY!"

Lily looked down. Below was Severus waving his arms frantically. He had his red flashlight and as he waved, it criss-crossed against her face like a searchlight.

"Lily what have you done! You need to get down!" He yelled, his voice cracking with anxiety.

She took a glance around her. The fear-inducing sensation of not touching the swing, her body floating freely in the sky suddenly hit her. She panicked- this had not happened before.

"Severus!" She wailed, "How do I-"

Then she plummeted as if the net that had suspended her snapped. She screamed, hair tumbling, her jacket billowing. With a punishing blow, she smacked the ground, or, rather, something else. Something that was now wheezing hoarsely. She had landed on Severus.

"Are you alright?" She asked, rolling off her friend.

The boy looked especially scrawny, his chest heaving, his long hair every which way. He licked at the corner of his mouth and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Dragging himself up with a wince, he scratched his head.

"How did you do that?" he whispered.

In the light of his flashlight beside him, Lily saw red blood on his lips.

"Oh, Severus, you're bleeding! Come on, we have to take you-"

"No! I don't want to go home! I've got blood now and my Mum will know-"

"Know what?" Lily asked.

Severus looked away and sniffled again.

"Here," Lily said, offering a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket, "It's a little used but you really need something."

Severus's fingers hovered over the tissue for a moment, a tad repulsed. But he took it and muttered a thank you.

"Now why can't you go home? We'll just sneak you in like we always-"

"I told you! I don't want to go home!" Severus snapped, "It's my Mum. She'll know I've been out with you again. She- she- why don't we just run away, Lily?"

"What?" Lily said, backing away a little, "Severus, what happened? You know we can't."

"Oh, Lily," Severus said soberly, a hand to his forehead, "Why do you always have to do things like this? It's why my Mum says all those mad things about you being a bad influence. Thinks you don't get punished for it at home."

Lily crossed her arms, "A bad influence? That's a fine thing to say. You're the one always sneaking out and then getting a beating for it."

Severus looked away. Lily blushed, she had gone too far with that one. She placed a hand on his. This got his attention and he turned back.

"Perhaps we're both just immune to it- to punishment," she said softly.

"So it doesn't bother you to be out like this?" he replied.

She shook her head, "It's only at night that I feel I have something that belongs to me. Freedom, I think."

Lily had her eyes trained upwards. A shooting star streaked across and her face lit up.

"Wow! Did you see that?" She asked, laying back on the grass for a better view.

Severus had been too caught up in her look of sheer wonder. While she snuck out to feel alive, he thought to himself, he just wanted to escape. To throw himself into a darkness where all form was lost. But in his wanderings, he had found a single twinkling light.

"No," Severus said, leaning back, "Guess I'll just have to keep looking."


	20. Snowy Toads

Dolores Umbridge stared at a first year with a bemused smile on her face.

"I'm quite sorry, but I don't believe I heard your excuse. What was that?" Umbridge asked in her sickly sweet voice.

"It's- it's," the small first year began, squirming in her snow boots, "It's just a little snowman."

Snowflakes were falling on the girl's yellow and black striped beanie. She was trying her hardest to avoid crying, sniffling and breathing deeply.

"Young lady," the squat woman remarked, "If that is just a snowman than I am a hippogriff. Tell me, do I look like a hippogriff to you?"

The girl shook her head slowly, her eyes on the ground, "No, professor-"

"That would be Headmistress. You must properly address your figures of authority."

"No, Headmistress."

"Really? So, tell me, then, who exactly is this snowy figure representing?"

Behind them was a round, lumpy pile of snow shaped unmistakably like a toad with curly hair. The snow creature even wore a pink scarf around its fat neck.

"It's uh- uh-" the girl began, her eyes glassy, her gloved hands wringing.

"Oi! No touching my art!" Fred Weasley shouted, stamping up to Umbridge and the little girl.

"Excuse me, you are interrupting official business!" Umbridge cried, narrowing her eyes at the freckled boy.

"No, I am interrupting this little twerp from taking credit for my magnificent piece! What do you think? I've already received offers from as far away as Taiwan to showcase. I'm not sure yet, don't know how I feel about being a sell-out. I only do it for the love, really."

"That is quite enough!" Umbridge snapped.

"You think?" Fred said, wrinkling his nose and admiring the lumpy toad specimen, "I thought about adding a few more warts, myself. But to each their own I suppose."

"Detention!" Umbridge shouted, her face a violent scarlet, "my office. Next five weeks after holidays. Am I making myself understood, Mr. Weasley?"

"'Mr. Weasley'? Come, come, I thought we were on a first name basis these days, Dolores."

"Ten weeks!" She cried hoarsely, "Your cheek shall be noted, mark my words!"

Fred scratched his chin, "Come to think of it, I don't have the next month after that booked up either."

"Twenty weeks! Oh, you may act all high and mighty now, but they all break. You, too, will be made compliant, young man," Umbridge said in an almost delirious voice, a wide smile spreading across her face.

She turned on her heel, her bright pink fur robes spinning around her. She marched back up to the castle in a huff, humming an off-tune song.

Fred turned to the first year, who looked up at him, her large eyes wide in amazement. Fred examined her toady creation up and down and grinned.

"You've got an eye, I'll give you that. Happy holidays, yeah?" He said, before walking away.

"But what about all those detentions?" The small girl cried after him.

Fred smirked, popping up his coat's collar.

"Something tells me I'll be let go early on good behavior" he said to himself.


	21. Abandoned

A puff of snow was thrown into the air. Birds lighted from the overhanging branches. Severus stood up sharply and slipped behind a pine tree. He attempted to still his breath, gritting his teeth.

A crow called above him. Severus turned his attention to his left arm, his right hand clamped hard around it. With a muffled grunt, he removed his hand to examine the cut.

"Splinched it, didn't you?" a man asked softly.

Severus apparated, surged by adrenaline. But the pain, it was intolerable and he could not perform a proper apparation. He stumbled on the ground, his shoulder ramming into something metallic. It was a Muggle arcade game, rusted and broken. It boomed loudly from his momentum.

"And now you can't escape, can you? Where did you even bring us? Is this really an abandoned amusement park? A bit dark now, I would think," the man shouted from somewhere on the silent grounds.

Snape gulped, willing himself to ignore the throbbing pain. Beside him was a roller coaster, the tunnel shaped like a large chromatic wildcat, graffiti scrawled across the fangs and weeds growing through the slats of the railway. Suddenly, a tall man appeared on the tracks. He smiled.

"Wotcher," the man called out.

"_Sectumsempra_!" Severus choked out.

The tall man blocked it with ease.

"Not evening trying are you, Severus? Are you really the duelist you boasted so well back at school?"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!" _Snape yelled hoarsely, his face pale.

The man raised a slab of concrete with his wand to shield the blow. Frustrated, Severus closed his eyes and apparated, damning it all. He appeared under a triceratops statue which had a scattering of beer cans with a logo written in German. He bit his lip until it drew blood. With certainty, he had used up all magic he could summon in his current state.

Germany. Berlin, to be more specific. Cornered and staring down the tip of a wand, Severus apparated as life flashed before his eyes. It was not a conscious choice, clearly. An amusement park- how ridiculous. This particularly underwhelming memory had not surfaced in ages yet here he was. But the park had fallen into serious disrepair, that was apparent.

A large Brontosaurus statue stood close, a pile of snow riding on its sizable back. Severus looked at the dinosaur in fixed determination. A clump of snow fell off of it. It- it was moving. The long neck stretched down with a tired creak and rotated its large head, docile eyes blinking.

Snape backed away, crawling on his hands in the snow.

"No," he breathed, frost curling in front of him, his blood dripping in the snow.

"_The Dark Lord requires it,"_ the dinosaur said in multiple-voice tone. The voices, they sounded familiar, one soft and feminine and the other lingering and eerie.

"He knows I cannot!" Severus cried with unrestrained emotion, a vein pulsing on his forehead "Yet he continues to taunt me!"

A whirring started up low and distorted, uneven and crackling from disuse. It was music coming from a carousel. Of course it was a bleeding carousel, Severus thought. Lopsided ponies, rabbits with missing ears and tigers with stripes long faded began to prance and leap along the carousel.

Severus stood up and almost fainted from the pain. His wound was severe, the blood soaking his coat. His movements could be seen by the man but it no longer mattered for the carousel was beautiful again. It was restored, colorful and dazzling and the animals were smiling widely, inviting him to ride.

"Now, Severus, I told you already that you spent all of your tickets!" His mother snapped behind him.

"But mom!" Severus wailed, turning around.

But she was gone. She had been gone for ten years now. But not the carousel. The carousel was an array of colors so bright, he lifted up a hand to block his eyes. As he reached the platform, the carousel halted immediately. It was ready for him to take a seat. Severus approached a lilac rabbit polished to perfection.

"Go ahead, touch the tail," the man whispered into his ear.

"I will not!" Snape hissed, staring at him with full venom.

"Severus, you're hurt," the man said, his eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses. He pointed to his bleeding arm.

Severus hid his injured arm behind his back. He looked at the man closely now. Even now, Severus could only summon loathing at the sight of him.

"Why do you still hate me, Severus?" the man asked.

"I suppose that's the way of habits, James. Or rather, memories."

The man's face fell. Dark clouds were rolling in.

"What?" James Potter whispered.

And then they both dropped, lightning arcing above them. Severus was sliding down a colorful chute. It was a slide. He was speeding and swerving in loop after loop after loop. The slide came to an abrupt end and in front of him was a mirror. Large red eyes stared at him in the mirror, haunting and cold. Severus held up his hands and broke through the mirror, glass shattering, his arms shredded. He landed face first into a pile of snow, his head spinning.

But he heard a sound in his confusion. It was crying from a small child. A red-nosed infant with jet black hair that stuck out.

"No, no, don't cry," Severus whispered, dragging himself to the baby, "Please try not to cry."

Unsure of what to do, he patted the child on the back. Looking up, the baby's wails softened. It hiccuped in fright, but became subdued. Severus picked up the boy and placed him on his lap. The boy gurgled, playing with a button on his coat jacket. He looked up at Severus and laughed playfully.

"There, there, Harry, it's alright," James whispered behind Severus.

"Oh, look at them. Look at Harry's smile," another voice chimed.

Severus did not want to turn his head in fear of losing her, but he smiled. It was Lily. Her voice was so soft, just as he liked to remember.

"But, Severus, you're bleeding," Lily said urgently, "Severus! Severus! You're bleeding all over the place!"

"SIR!"

Severus snapped awake. He was laying in a bed at St. Mungo's Hospital. A nurse in white robes watched him with sharp eyebrows. His body was drenched in feverish sweat.

"Sir, it is quiet hours. Do you need something for the pain?" she asked.

Severus clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Yes," he said with a swallow, "yes, thank you."

"Will wake up the Prime Minister which such screaming," the nurse murmured, shuffling out of the room.

Severus stared up at the white ceiling, which, for a moment, seemed to flash a pair of eyes. But they were not slitted and red. They were green and open.


	22. Heroic Efforts

Ron burst into the living room, his hands thrown up into the air.

"You lot know the ministry is expecting us in an hour, right?" he shouted.

"You mean the ministry is expecting _you _in an hour," Harry replied, sitting in a large armchair.

"Harry," Hermione cut in, walking into the room as she was putting on her second earring, "You mind zipping up my dress?"

"Why can't I do that?" Ron said, stepping in with a suave smile.

"Oh, Ron! Didn't see you there!" Hermione replied softly, pulling her hair over her shoulder as Ron pulled up the zipper from the base of her back to- to-

"'Mione, the zipper's stuck."

"No, it's not, just pull."

"Well, I'm trying now, but it's- I'm telling you, the zipper's stuck."

Hermione growled, "Knew there was a reason why I didn't wear this ugly thing anymore!"

"I found it to be an agreeable color for you," Luna piped in, walking in from the kitchen and carrying a large basket of orange fruit.

"Luna, what are those?" Ron asked, his face going pale.

"They're Dirigible plums," Neville cut in, walking behind Luna, "She said she wanted to take some from the garden."

"You think they'll let us in with those?" Ron asked.

"In with what?" Hermione asked, stepping forward in an entirely new dress.

"Oi! What happened to you?" Ron shouted, swiveling around to face her, "Couldn't have put a spell or something on it to make it work?"

"Nothing was going to make it work, Ron. Now, where did I put my shoes that match this dress? Honestly, Ron, you're bedroom is a nightmare."

"You should see Fred and George's room," Ginny replied, smoothly walking down the staircase, "Trust me, as long as the rug hasn't become sentient, Ron's doing loads better."

"Finally! Somebody's ready!" Ron said gleefully, "Now I only have to wrangle the rest of you."

"I'm ready," Luna said cheerfully, until her face dropped, "Er- and Neville would have been as well, but he, uh-"

"Some of the Dirigible Plums exploded when we were flying over," Neville interrupted, his cheeks a bright red, "A few tumbled out the basket and smacked me."

"I've got a jacket you can borrow," Harry said, swooping up from the large armchair, "I can bring it down for you."

As Harry ran up the stairs, he caught Ginny's eyes and tripped, landing on his face. Ginny scooped him up and the touch electrified Harry. He coughed a thank you and ran up to Ron's room. Ron watched their exchange and cleared his throat.

"Hey, Gin, been meaning to tell you that you got an owl."

"What?" Ginny asked, her eyes wide, "How long ago was it? Why are you telling me this now?"

Ron held up his hands as if to block her rage, "Don't you bark at me. I saw it under a pile of _Daily Prophets_ and figured I would let you know."

Ginny seethed, storming down the stairs and into the kitchen. The letter was on the table and she picked it up, reading the return address. She went numb, touching her fingers to her lips.

"What is it?" Luna asked gently.

"It's from Dean," Ginny said, closing her eyes, the letter trembling in her hands.

"Dean Thomas?" Neville asked from the large armchair, "But it's been ages, hasn't it?"

"It's this end of the war nonsense, I'm telling you," Ron cut in, "Survive Voldemort and you think you have to do all sorts of bleeding stupid things."

"Is that really what you're going to say_ right before_ we attend the Ministry's gala in honor of the heroic efforts of Ronald Weasley?" Harry cut in.

"You've found a jacket?" Neville asked brightly.

"That depends. Can I have my armchair back?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Neville tilted his head, "It's not your armchair, is it?"

Harry was about to toss Neville his blazer, but held back, "Well, not in technical terms, no. But I was sitting in it. Had to get up to find you a jacket. So how about me and you switch."

"Switch chairs? Harry, you haven't got anything on yet!" Ron stormed.

"He took my spot!" Harry shouted, pointing to Neville.

"Are you two really getting into a row over a chair?" Hermione asked, her hair swept up in an elaborate bun as she wore a pajama top and a silk black skirt.

"Hermione! Why are you half dressed!" Ron wailed, clutching his red hair.

"I told you, I couldn't find the heels that matched that other dress."

"You know what?" Ron huffed, "I don't care what matches and what doesn't. I don't care and The Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt sure as hell will also NOT CARE. You want to know why? Because it's _my_ night and _my_ award. Just please, please, and this includes everyone PLEASE JUST GET CHANGED!"

The group stared at him in silence. Hermione crossed her arms, her lips drawn tight.

"You want me to get changed, Ronald? I'll get changed!" She said as she strode upstairs, her feet stomping on each step.

Ron looked up at her with a pained expression, his fists clenched but his eyes large.

"Merlin's saggy testicles!" Ginny cried from the kitchen, "Why would he do this?"

"Do what?" Luna asked, placing the basket of Dirigible plums onto the kitchen table.

"Listen to this. This is a letter from Dean: 'Dear Ginny, Hope you are doing well. There are some important things I've been meaning to talk to you about. Perhaps we will see each other at the Gala? Please send an owl as soon as you get this. -Dean.'"

"That sounds rather cordial, I would think," Luna said.

"But! But!" Ginny said, wagging her finger, "There's one last bit! 'P.S. And I've been wanting to have you meet Michelle. She'll be there, too.'"

"Michelle? Like his little sister?" Neville asked from the living room.

"See, that's what I thought, too, but then I remembered-"

"He did seem to have a fondness for that seventh year named Michelle Eades," Luna said.

"Exactly! It has to be that one!" Ginny shouted, "His sister is, like, what? Five, maybe six. Why would she be going out this late?"

"Because Dean's one of the blokes being honored tonight," Ron replied, shrugging his shoulders, "Heard he evaded capture pretty well during the war."

"I know what I'll do," Ginny said, wringing her hands, "An owl. He told me to send one. Well, here I go."

"Ginny, what are you going to write to him? This all sounds concerning," Luna said, touching Ginny on the back.

Ron rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Neville! What in blazes are you doing?" he shouted.

"What? Harry said he wanted the chair. He didn't say anything about the cushions."

"Neville, you're being childish," Harry retorted hotly.

"You're hearing this, aren't you?" Neville said to Ron, pointing to Harry, "The under-dressed Chosen One called me childish?"

"Harry, listen to me," Ron said, clapping his hands together, "I'm only asking you to put on some clothes, mate. Can you forget about the chair?"

"I'll forget about it," Harry replied sharply, tossing the jacket out the window and into the garden, "Just as I'll forget about the coat I was lending Neville."

"No!" Neville shouted, dropping the cushions and running out the door.

Harry dived for the cushions, but Ron whipped out his wand and they flew into his hands.

"Now no one will have a sit unless they are fully clothed for a nice evening! Tonight will be pleasant, it will appropriate and there will be no more petty squabbling until we are back with my Medal of Recognition for Heroic Efforts!" Ron shouted.

There was a slow clapping from the top of the stairs. It was Hermione, in an over-sized top from some strange Muggle band called Spicy Girls or something like that and sweatpants. Her make-up was removed and her hair was down and scraggly. Ron's jaw dropped, speechless.

"I enjoy this outfit, Hermione," Luna said, "It's daring and unusual. Shall I change, too?"

"If you like, Luna," Hermione said acidly, staring hard at Ron, "Nobody cares."

"Now, tell me if this letter sounds awkward. I think this is just my first draft," Ginny began, "It goes 'Dear Dean-"

"UGH!" Ron screamed, throwing the chair cushions in her direction. Ginny ducked and the cushions clipped the handle of the Luna's basket.

The basket began swiveling in circles, dancing close to the edge of the table.

"Don't let it fall!" Neville shouted, throwing open the front door, muddy coat in hand.

Ron dived forward, his hands outstretched. The basket swiveled out onto the edge and fell. The plums were launched into the air, the basket falling on Ron's head. Arcing downwards, the plums smacked the ground and exploded. They popped like paint-filled balloons, red juices splattering. Ginny shrieked and Neville groaned. Ron was laid out on the ground, drenched in the Dirigible plum juice. He sighed and put his head on the ground with a heavy sigh, the basket still resting on his head.

"Ron, do you want us to-"

"Don't. Don't Ginny. Not a word," Ron said, lifting up a finger.

"I have a dress you can borrow. The shoes won't match, of course, but I don't suppose the Minister will mind."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"The plum juice has a lovely scent to it. Perhaps we can tell them you meant to immerse yourself in it. It'll seem mysterious."

"Thanks, Luna."

"You know what? The chair thing was a bit silly and I apologize, Ron. Think I will get dressed now."

"Thanks, Harry."

"No problem, mate."


	23. Sister

"Explain," she demanded.

Oh no. Parvati used the tone I had not heard since the Yule Ball two years ago. Honestly, some Gryffindor she'd been, not striking up the courage to ask Ron until it was too late.

Parvati snapped her fingers, "Oi there! You tuning me out?"

"Parv, I've got a paper to write and a letter to revise for the D.A.," I answered, rubbing my temples.

She leaned across the dining table, her arm sweeping aside a bowl of pasties. That's when she shoved it right under my nose. The crumpled photo.

"What made you change your mind?" She asked.

I sighed and picked up the photograph, smoothing it out. It was ancient by my standards. A whole three months ago. It was Dean Thomas and I outside of the Three Broomsticks. We were,let's say, _passionately distracted_.

"What you mean?" I said, scrunching my brows, "We went on a date or two. Ginny and him were split up by then, if that's what you're getting 'round at."

"That's not what I meant, Padma!" she shouted.

"You getting sleep these days?" I asked, "It's that bloody Apparition test, isn't it?"

"Will you just shut it?" she scowled.

Touchy now, wasn't she? Acts like a complete troll every time I bring it up. Perhaps if she had studied the night before the Apparition test as her dutiful sister had suggested, she wouldn't have had to beg Twycross for a re-test. Not that I _ever _brought that up, dear reader.

"It's what's on the back!" she hissed, flipping over the photograph.

There was my hasty scribbling on the back. Oh, Merlin.

_Dear Parvati,_

_I know this will be difficult but we both know something is happening. I can't wait any longer, I have to find out what's going on. You know I can do it, what I'm capable of. __If Mum and Dad ask, tell them...just don't tell Mum and Dad. I'll send them a letter._

_If you think this is mad, you're probably right._

_I'm sorry,_

_Your Padma_

"There's a reason why it's all crumpled up, you know," I replied, "Didn't go through with it, did I?"

"Running away, Padma? As if you don't know how selfish that is?"

"You don't know what it was like, Parvati," I said, "and you still don't."

"Then maybe I need some enlightening," she said, her arms crossed.

I stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"You asked me why I changed my mind," I whispered, beckoning with my hand.

Parvati's nostrils flared. Ever so grudgingly, she got up. We ran up many flights of stairs until we were outside on a small balcony. I shivered, crossing my arms tightly.

"What is it?" Parvati asked.

I pointed upwards.

"What? The Astronomy Tower?"

"You can't see who's there?" I asked.

Parvati focused her eyes.

"Is that Harry?"

"With Ron and Hermione," I said, "they've been doing this every night for weeks now."

Parvati turned to me, her voice soft, "Padma, will you please tell me what is going on?"

"And every day they're huddled up whispering in the Great Hall. I'm not in Gryffindor, but I wager it's like that in there, too."

"So? They're all good mates."

I took a breath, "I can feel it. Every time I'm by them."

Parvati whispered solemnly, "I thought we agreed you'd always let me know when you-"

"Well I'm telling you know, alright? Harry's leaving. He doesn't know it yet, but so's Hermione and Ron."

"What? Why? What are they going to do?"

I shrugged, "I think it's Voldemort. Maybe they've figured a way to kill him."

The thought sounded mad when it left my lips. But Parvati sensed my certainty. All these years she has covered up for me, pretending to be the "psychic" twin, or, at least, the one who desperately believed so. In Divination, Parvati was the one that excelled, not her skeptical sister, Padma.

Because if there is one thing I have learned in History class, Muggle and Wizard alike, it is that my abilities would be my curse. Even if it was not my profession, it would certainly be my responsibility. Even if I was tolerated (as opposed to the Muggle preference of either torching or probing, whatever was in style that century), I would never be accepted. Not really. Not when they believed you could read them like the front page of _The Daily Prophet. _

"So then why are you staying?" Parvati asked quietly.

I reached out and took my sister's hand. Her eyes were glassy. Wordlessly, she tucked me into a fierce hug.

She whispered in the language of our home.

"_My sister_."


	24. Fanged Fog

Professor Lupin held a swirling cloud aloft in his palm. He presented it to the class, their eyes following the softly spinning form.

"I have conjured a small amount here for you to observe. Tell me, what are the two ways we can spot Calamitas Nebulom from regular fog?"

A certain precocious third year had her hand in the air before the question was fully articulated. Lupin smiled and ignored her, pointing to another boy.

"Professor, that would be a bluish tinge and- and-"

"Yes, go on, Mr. Macmillan. I can hear it on the tip of your tongue."

"Howling."

* * *

Lupin woke with a jolt. Howling pierced the night. It sound miserable and too human. Lupin reached for his wand underneath his pillow and walked to the window, pushing back a fraction of curtain. In the faint light of the half moon, he saw nothing against the black hills of the forest.

Then it burst over the crest. It rolled in like a frothy rogue wave. Lupin's eyes grew wide with terror.

They were coming.

Professor Lupin's face dropped, the scars on his face sagging slightly. His voice, however, maintained a cheery demeanor.

"Yes and no, Mr. Macmillan. A point to Hufflepuff for correctly identifying one sign, which is a blue-like hue. Howling, however, is a widespread myth."

Zacharias raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Smith?"

"But it's called 'Fanged Fog' for a reason, right?"

* * *

Lupin heaved his traveling case onto the moldy bed. His hands shook as he released the latches and slid open a hidden drawer behind the mirror. A single vial rolled forward.

More howling picked up now, coming in every direction. The forest was alive with their terror.

Lupin yanked off the cork and downed the concoction. He grimaced painfully, beating his chest to keep the putrid potion inside him. Pointing his wand at the case, it packed itself up and flew into his hands. Throwing open the cabin door, he ran into the dark.

"No. It's called 'Fanged Fog' because it turns you into a werewolf," Ron countered, sneering at Zacharias.

"Once again, class, we are caught up in several complete falsehoods," Professor Lupin replied.

"Calamitas Nebulom can be regarded as a Disillusion Spell. Often, Aurors will produce this fog over objects or streets they believe are not what they seem. A rubbish bin may be a crate of illegal dragons' eggs. A Muggle barber shop may be a hub within the black market."

Draco sniggered in the back of the classroom. Lupin lifted his head.

"Something funny, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Well, I mean, come on, Professor," Draco said, looking at Crabbe and Goyle, "we all know what they really use this spell for."

"Specificity is important, Mr. Malfoy. By 'they' you mean..."

"It's to drive out the werewolves."

Lupin clenched his scarred hand behind his back.

* * *

"Just trying running, ya bastards!" a man yelled in the distance.

Lupin was frantically scrambling through the thick foliage. Pained howling filled his ears. A werewolf raid, he thought. No camp, no matter how informal, was safe anymore. Lupin smacked into a tree and coughed with pain. His suitcase had clattered loudly against the trunk. A red spark shot past his ear.

"We found your nest, cur!" another man shouted, sending a whizzing green flash.

Lupin dove under a fallen tree trunk. He closed his eyes and painfully willed to Apparate. But he knew it was not possible, not with the fog choking him in on all sides. He could feel it threatening to rip his senses apart, stitch by stitch.

"That's not true," came a small voice.

Professor Lupin turned around. It was Neville.

"What was that, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville answered, talking at his hands, "It's not allowed on werewolves. My gran says it's been banned. There's even a statute or something or other."

"There is indeed! The Disillusion Ban of 1985, to be precise! No magical persons not warranted or convicted of a crime may be subject to Disillusion spells."

"But it doesn't answer the real question, does it?" a chilling voice asked in the back of the classroom.

Heads turned. Professor Snape paced into the classroom, staring down at the students.

"I must confess it has been an age since I was last educated on the minute intricacies of wizarding law," Snape said quietly, his black eyes piercing Lupin.

"Furthermore," Snape continued, "As this is, so I am told, a class for the defense against the dark arts, how does any of this pertain to your students' avoidance of the described spell?"

"But we have just gone over the ban of 19-"

"Still not answering my question, Professor. I asked, what would one do?"

* * *

The forest was thick with Fanged Fog. Lupin had stuffed his case under a pile of leaves. He panted, his body consumed in a dizzying sweat. The antidote was flagging under the strength of the fog.

A spell was hurled just a few paces ahead of him. He dodged and turned around. Hadn't they been following him from the other direction? Lupin took a step forward from his hiding spot. His ankle brushed a wire. A trap snapped from under him and the ground gave way to air, his limbs entangled in net.

"We've got another! Think it's the last one!" came a familiar voice.

Others arrived carrying lit wands. From a glancing count, Lupin guessed thirty people were out tonight. Quite large. They were becoming organized.

"Come on, then, cut 'im down! Have to see his face first before we can collect what belongs to us!"

"His head is what belongs to us!"

There was a great roar from the assembled. Lupin's eyes flickered. He could feel it now, throbbing heavily in his heart. He was succumbing to his other half. Without the full moon it felt doubly worse, like an execution by a dull sword.

"Hang on, then, this one's not all hairy!" someone said, nudging his foot.

A large figure strode forward. Even his presence, his growled breathing, was enough for Lupin to recognize the ominous form of Fenrir Greyback. He was wearing a gas mask to protect himself from the fog.

Fenrir sniffed Lupin, and growled, "Well, hello. Old friend."

* * *

Professor Lupin ran a hand down his mustache. He glanced at Snape, who was now seated in the front row, his hands folded in his lap.

"Calamitas Nebulom was, as Mr. Longbottom stated, a weapon used against magical persons they believed to be dangerous. But danger stems from fear. Fear, as we have learned with boggarts, may take any form most convenient for its purposes."

The net had been hauled off. Lupin was too far gone to struggle, his forehead slick with fever, his chest heaving.

"So is he, or isn't he?" a man shouted from the crowd, "We're not paying you to stare at him, mongrel! Or would you rather we skewer you like the rest of them?"

Fenrir roared fiercely. The crowd stepped back and he sniffed in approval.

"I can smell it, you know," Fenrir whispered lethally to Lupin, "the way you fight it. Like a diseased dog, you are. Just waiting for the bullet to your brain."

Lupin coughed, his voice deep and scratching, "I am- not-"

"This one's a werewolf! I've seen plenty being put to the fog before!" the same man cried, stepping forward.

The man spat upon Lupin's face. Lupin closed his eyes, shaking with concentration, gritting his teeth.

"Come, brother," Fenrir said quietly, his clawed hand on Lupin's shoulder, "your anger is intoxicating to smell. I'm willing to wager you can take a dozen with you, bite a few for fair fighting. They'll take your head either way, boy."

* * *

"There is fear of pain," Professor Lupin continued, looking at Neville.

"And fear of shame," he said, staring at Draco.

"But most importantly," Professor Lupin said barely over a whisper, "there is fear of oneself. A person who do not knows themselves will snatch whatever is offered. Be that a monstrous killer of men..."

Professor Lupin paused, his eyes fixed on Snape, "Or a werewolf."

* * *

Lupin was transforming, despite his efforts. The fog licked at him, calling sweetly The crowd was raised in foaming cries. He glared at them, his breathing rapid, his teeth bared. He sat up.

"That's right, you know what to do," Fenrir coaxed.

Lupin's eyes were yellow, his pupils small in the light of the wands. As his fingers grew into claws, he crouched on his furry haunches. But instead of facing the audience encircling him, he turned to Fenrir. It was his last thought, like a drifting ember from the coals. With a low growl, Lupin sprang.

The two clashed, rolling onto the ground. Fenrir and Lupin barked and howled, Lupin's fangs clacking and snapping on flesh. Fenrir kicked and Lupin hit the ground on his back. He pounced back, shaking his snout.

Something inside his delirious mind commanded that this would be the one. The one he had to kill.

* * *

"Calamitas Nebulom seeks to make you forget who you are," Professor Lupin said, his voice growing louder, "Because it is not only werewolves who succumb to it, as the myths are so sorely mistaken. Anyone may be lost in the fog."

"You're weak, Lupin!" Fenrir snarled on his back, his arms forcing Lupin's jaws away from his throat, "Me? Instead of those buggers?"

Lupin's claws raked Fenrir's ribs. Fenrir grunted and rolled Lupin upon his back, pinning him down with his mighty hands.

"You're just another crazed dog," Fenrir spat, "it's time I collect my reward on you."

Then, without warning, all the lit wands were extinguished. Fenrir halted, swiveling around.

"What's going on?" Fenrir roared.

A wand was suddenly brightly lit by a hobbling silhoutte who drew close to the two.

"Boo," Moody whispered.

A crackle of light filled the air as Aurors dropped from the trees.

* * *

Professor Lupin said, "Just as there are times when your friends are near, there will also be obstacles you must face alone. Fight when you are able, and remember who you are when you cannot."

"What a completely useless inspirational speech," Snape replied, walking to the back of the classroom, "And that will be five points from Gryffindor for that eye rolling, Mr. Potter."

The door slammed behind him.

Dean Thomas raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"Can we practice it?"

The rest of the class nodded their heads in agreement, whispering quietly to one another in anticipation.

* * *

"Name?" Moody asked grimly, a quill poised on a note pad.

Lupin cleared his throat, "Will you be-"

"We're not hauling you off, son," Moody said, "Don't ruddy want scared werewolves crowding our cells and creating a mountain of paperwork. I just need your name."

"That would be Remus Lupin."

"Well, Remus," Moody said, closing the pad, "You're one of the lucky ones. Ministry's up to their ears in cases like this. You lying low? Keeping an eye on any potential assailants?"

Lupin shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Training to become a teacher, actually."

"Teaching? What, with children? Yes, well, I guess there's got to be some mad enough to do it," Moody growled, stalking away.


	25. Ink on White Hands

Regulus quietly turned the knob into the manor. He set down his suitcase and unwrapped his scarf.

"Mother?" Regulus called out as he plucked his calf-skin gloves from his fingers.

There was no response. Shirking off his cloak, Regulus paused in confusion.

"Mother? Mother, I'm home!"

He spotted a satin emerald coat on the rack decorated in fine embroidery. It was his cousin's, doubtlessly. What was she doing here? And where was his mother? He felt something hitch in his throat. It was stupid to come back here, even if it was for one last-

He heard voices coming from upstairs. Like a whisper, Regulus crept quietly up the staircase. He heard his name and his ears perked. Following the sounds, he leaned beside his mother's closed bedroom door.

"..and with Sirius running off and Regulus scarcely here. Oh, how it hurts me gravely to see it."

It was his mother. His heart sank. What would he say to her? How could she ever understand?

"Those are his wishes," Narcissa responded, "and all we can do is honor them."

"But you don't know what it's like!" his mother wailed, blowing her nose.

"Don't think for a moment that you and I are so different now, Auntie," Narcissa responded.

"But when it's your own child, Narcissa!"

"What? As if I do not worry over my Lucius any less? I know this is hard for you but he has made himself quite clear on the matter."

"Bellatrix, my dear, what do you think?" his mother crowed pathetically.

"Well there it is then," Narcissa snapped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bellatrix insisted.

Regulus lifted an eyebrow. Just what exactly was going on?

"Oh, come now, Bella. Everyone knows he worships the very ground you walk on. You were just aching for the moment he turned of age to be given the mark! It's just you can be-"

"I can be what, dear Cissy?" Bellatrix asked, her voice growing louder.

"Girls, please, do not start."

"I asked," Bellatrix fumed, "what can I be?"

Regulus pressed his ear against the door, holding his breath. He heard a faint murmur followed by Bellatrix's cruel cackling.

"Over eager!" Bellatrix said in an amused voice, "Tell me now, Cissy, would you rather our throats be slit and our pure blood run at the feet of those wretched Mudbloods?"

"You're always getting carried away with yourself! Please, Bella, will you put that fire out before you hurt someone?" Narcissa cried.

"That is enough!" his mother warbled, "I am ordering you both to desist at once!" There was a silence. "Speaking of which, where the devil is that boy?" she asked.

Regulus went pale. He bolted down the staircase as quietly as possible. When the bedroom door cracked open, Regulus swung on a winning grin. He pretended not to have overheard their conversation.

"Look who's here!" his mother said affectionately, her arms thrown wide.

"Hello, mother," he replied, pecking her on the cheek. He looked behind her and saw his two cousins looking around the room uncomfortably. The foul odor of a recently extinguished fire wafted out. "Is that sweet Bella and lovely Narcissa come to visit?" he asked enthusiastically, striding forward to kiss their cheeks.

"Reggie, dear, you have ink stains on your hands," his mother said, picking up his left hand, which he jerked away quickly.

"It- It's nothing. Father needed another set of hands at the Ministry today. Seems they're up to their ears in reports."

"Yes," Narcissa answered crossly, "It's been a rather busy season, hasn't it? Lucius simply cannot pull himself away."

At what seemed like another quarrel ready to start, and at the mention of her ever-absent Orion, Walburga threw up her hands in resignation and stormed out of the bedroom. "And has anyone seen Kreacher?" she yelled back to them, "Kreacher! Kreacher, come, now!" The door slammed behind her. Bellatrix twisted her mouth in a smile as she leaned against the stained-glass window. She stared at Narcissa, whose red lips quivered.

"You can stop pretending you're not honored," Bellatrix whispered.

Narcissa was about to dab her hands with a handkerchief when she slowly lowered it, "I beg your pardon?"

"'I beg your pardon?'" Bellatrix mocked, "Would you like a great big flag to wave around that says 'My Hubby's A Big Shot Deatheater'? Or would you rather I write it on your-"

"Are you suggesting I'm enjoying this?" Narcissa cut in.

"Well why not? The whole family's in on it now!" Bellatrix cried, pointing to Regulus.

"Don't you dare go comparing my husband to Regulus!" Narcissa snarled, standing up.

"Look who's Little Miss Two-Faced! What happened to saying that we should all be glad for Reggie?"

"Damnit, I was just trying to soothe Aunt Walburga's nerves over Regulus's recent bout of idiocy and you bloody well know it!" Narcissa screamed.

The sisters drew wands. Regulus took it as a cue to draw his as well, but was unsure where to point it, so he looked back and forth, his hand trembling. "Now, don't," Regulus said, raising a hand up, "don't go doing anything we'll all regret later. Remember, we all serve the Master and-"

"Hold you tongue, Regulus!" Bellatrix shouted, "I have to sort out this traitor first."

Narcissa coughed out a dark laugh, "Traitor? A traitor, Bellatrix? When I held your hand the entire night after you were given your mark, telling you everything would be alright?" Narcissa spoke through gritted teeth, "When I served as hostess for every single meeting? And now, when I watch as my youngest cousin, no older than a child, take direct orders from The Dark Lord that borders on suicide?"

"Those who are most loyal are prepared to give everything for our Lord," Bellatrix replied.

"And I will not stop you," Narcissa whispered, a tear running down her cheek, "though it fills me with more anguish than I have ever known." Narcissa heaved and lowered her wand.

Bellatrix sniffed, sauntering to the door. Her spindly fingers grasped the knob. She turned back, her eyes possessed, "The Dark Lord will not be told of this insolence but hear me, Cissy, I will not make the same mistake I made with our imbecilic cousin. If so much as a whisper of treason leaves your lips, I will do what is required of me."

Narcissa did not respond. Her head was bent and she stifled a sob behind her handkerchief. Bellatrix left the room in a stilted silence, like a candle blown out.

"Why do you really have those ink stains on your hands?"

Regulus turned to her, his face pale as a sheet.

"I see that look in your eyes. I know fear." she said

Regulus said softly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Narcissa looked down, "Then you are as weak as I am."

Regulus rushed to her, clutching her tightly, his hand in her white hair. He was shaking fiercely, his breath racked with a dry sob.

"So it is true," she said, her eyes closed.

"Just, promise me... promise me, once I am gone-"

"No, Regulus, stop it-"

"You have to promise!" he cried, taking her hands, tears streaming down his face, "I'm- I'm so scared and you're all I've left. Please, it has to be tonight!" Narcissa but a finger to his lips. He steadied himself and took a breath. "What am I to promise?" she asked.

He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "One moment of bravery in a lifetime of cowardice."


End file.
